King and Lioness
by The Moonlily
Summary: Ghosts that we knew will flicker from view and we will live a long life. Continuation of "A Light that Endures" and "Flickers of Light".
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **King and Lioness

**Rating: **M

**Pairings: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Genre: **Romance/Drama

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate, and the line in summary is from the song "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford And Sons. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

**Summary: **Ghosts that we knew will flicker from view and we will live a long life. Continuation of _Flickers of Light_.

**Author's Note: **In the latest chapter of _A Light that Endures _I asked my readers if they would be interested to read more about the life of Éomer and Lothíriel after the events of that story. As you recall, the chapter in question introduced a wide variety of events that were not much explored, like their adjusting to ruling, meeting again Aragorn in Gondor, and then the eventual birth of their son (I imagine he and his siblings should be making many appearances in this one!). Several readers did express their wish to read more, and I decided to comply. Not only am I glad to indulge you, but I also mean to take bit of a break from writing - that is, I am not going to start another full length story any time soon, but a story in the frame of _ALTE _and in similar form as _Flickers _is entirely doable. Even if I am taking a break, I can't quit writing completely! :D

My original plan was to continue _Flickers of Light _indefinitely after I was done with _A Light that Endures. _I would keep writing scenes in the same fashion as from the beginning as far as my muse would remain active for this particular storyline. However, now after some thinking_, _I have started to feel like the years of Fourth Age would have to be covered some place else. I wanted _Flickers _to stand alone as a companion to _ALTE._ As a result, here you have the first installment of _King and Lioness. _Indeed this is similar to _Flickers _in form but it delves into widely untouched ground that is only briefly described in the next to last chapter of _ALTE. _I am hesitant to call this a sequel, though I do not know what other word might better describe it.

I hope you enjoy the story!

* * *

><p><em>"For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."<em>

- J. R. R. Tolkien

* * *

><p>The thing Lothíriel, Lady of the Mark, had known to expect was that being a queen would bring challenges with it.<p>

What she did not expect was how mundane those challenges could be. And not just mundane, but also kind of ridiculous compared to all she had dealt with lately.

For on the first morning, when they had finished their breakfast and Éomer had wandered to dig through his chest of clothes, she remembered she could not exactly make an appearance wearing nothing but her husband's robe, but on the other hand she did not have much to replace it. All her gowns and goods were back in Dol Amroth. Well, there were some dirty clothes in her saddlebags like she had told him, but even clean they were not something a queen would appear wearing. In war camps and on the road it hadn't mattered, but here and now was different.

"I think you don't need gowns to be queenly", said her husband as he kissed her brow, "but I do see your problem. Don't worry – I will ask if Éowyn can find you something for the day."

"That would be nice. I have plenty back in home, because Aredhel insisted I need a wardrobe fit for a queen, but that doesn't help much now. It will take weeks before any will arrive", she muttered, pulling his robe tighter about herself. "Some queen I am, having to borrow others' clothes."

"Dear wife, after all you have done, no borrowed gown will make you less worthy. It is not wrong to ask for help when you need it", Éomer told her firmly. And she knew he was right – he was more right than one could ever say.

"I know", she murmured on his lips and kissed him once more – as a result, the matter of clothing was postponed for almost another hour.

Éowyn, tactful as to not make any observations for the late appearance of the royal couple on tis day, did find her a couple of spare gowns, and more could be purchased in the capital's markets; however, when she was helping Lothíriel with lacing on the back of the garment, she suggested: "I was wondering if you would like a proper tour of Meduseld and all the royal holdings. I was in charge of the household for several years, so this would be a very good chance to get you familiar with it."

Her brothers, Amrothos especially, proved helpful as well: "Oh, don't worry about us, sister. We are perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves, and anyway we should probably get out of your way while you and Éowyn turn the place upside down."

From her previous visits to Edoras Lothíriel knew or at least recognised some of the people she was introduced to on that day, but even by the end of the day she felt it would take a while to learn to remember everyone's names. Fortunately the chatelaine of the Golden Hall, a woman named Osythe, seemed like a nice woman; she had served in the position for almost twenty years and knew all that went to running of the household, and she was in familiar terms with all of its members. Éowyn did not have to tell Lothíriel this lady would be her best friend and ally in coming years.

All things considered she learnt much that day, and come the evening she was brimming with everything she wanted to tell Éomer. She had barely seen him during the day, as he had spent most of it locked in his study with his advisers – Éowyn had commented they all had expected to get to him so gleefully they had virtually forgotten about ale last night. So, the thought of seeing him was wrought of anticipation.

But when he did return to her that night, she could see right away how very tired he was. After all, last night had not seen too much sleeping, and he had been at work since the morning. Soon as he had kissed her briefly and kicked away his boots, he more or less collapsed on the bed and let out a groan.

"And here I was thinking I had a busy day", she said teasingly and hopped to sit next to him on the bed. One could easily get lost there, what with the sheets and blankets and the sleeping furs and massive pillows.

"Mmh. It's even worse than I thought. What was that traitor even doing here?" Éomer muttered, rolling over to his back and rubbing his forehead. "If I will ever manage to work through this mess, I will be old and withered by the time I'm done."

"If you need help..." she started gingerly, reaching to brush her fingers through his hair. He gave her a tired look, but there was affection as well.

"I know, my queen", he said and then closed his eyes with a sigh. Then, in minutes his breathing turned slow and even, and she knew he was already asleep. Lothíriel bit her lip – she hadn't even had chance to ask if he had eaten supper.

Carefully she lifted up some blankets over him and rested her hand against his cheek.

_Looks like I've got a lot to learn, _she thought to herself. _I may as well as start by making sure he is kinder to himself. _

* * *

><p>Though she had not exactly expected anything else, Lothíriel saw quickly that learning to navigate this new world would take her some time, and she would not digest all the intricacies of being the mistress of the household overnight. However, she landed the position as comfortably as it was really possible, what with the support of Éowyn and Osythe.<p>

Couple of days after Éowyn took her leave of them in the middle of the day when they were sitting down in the Queen's Chamber to enjoy some lunch. It did not escape Lothíriel why her sister-in-law did that. The White Lady wanted her to get to know Osythe better, and without herself hovering nearby all the time.

As the two women were sitting and eating, the older woman offered the young queen a friendly smile. She was in her fifties, and was quite a handsome woman with wide face and large, expressive eyes. Her hair was red gold and in her eyes glimmered dark blue of evening's shadows. Her husband was the household's head smith, while their three daughters were all married and living in different corners of the land. Luckily at least her oldest had chosen to stay in Edoras and was fast producing grandchildren for Osythe.

"Now, my lady, how are you finding Meduseld and Edoras so far?" she asked to open conversation and perhaps usher away the slightly awkward mood. Lothíriel looked up from her meal and returned the smile.

"Oh, it is all I thought it would be, and more", she replied. "Not to mention I am very happy to see how warmly I have been welcomed here."

"I would say you deserve all the respect of the people, considering everything you have done for the King and for the realm", Osythe stated solemnly. Then another smile touched her features, "Though I must admit, after all these years I am quite happy to see Éomer so happily married to such a lady as yourself. That lad ought to have some happiness in his life."

"You have known him for a long time?" Lothíriel asked. Her question brought the shadow of memories on the older woman's face.

"Aye, I have. Since Théoden King brought him and Éowyn to live here... watched them grow up. They are dear to me, like my own children", Osythe said softly. She smiled then sheepishly, "That is why I took great personal interest in the matter of their marriages. For years I kept wondering when Éomer would settle down and start a family, but when looking at the ladies who wooed him, I felt he had yet to find his match."

She shook her head and hurried to continue, "I beg your pardon, my lady. I speak too boldly."

"It's fine. I know I have nothing to worry about", Lothíriel said, waving her hand in nonchalance.

"Indeed you don't. Though there are many maidens in the Mark who would not mind sharing the bed of the King, I do not believe a single one of them would dare to try and seek his affections", she said.

"Why is that?" Lothíriel asked, lifting her eyebrows. Despite all, she did feel slightly curious. Now the woman before her smiled widely.

"Oh, it is because of you, my Queen. Not only do they know his heart utterly belongs to you, but they should also know to fear your response... who of the sane mind would wish to taunt a lioness?"

* * *

><p>Éomer had known Éothain for so many years it was hard to imagine a life where he did not have his friend. They had been riding together, saved each others' lives, and seen the darkening of the years. When Uncle had made him Marshal, there was no doubt on his mind who should be his second in command. And Éothain had fulfilled that role better than one could ever have hoped for.<p>

It had been his friend's calling, Éomer knew, and he could see how difficult it was to Éothain to let go of it. Though the man did give his blessing to the idea, the King of the Mark had a feeling deep down his friend would always resent the knowledge someone else was the Captain of the Royal Guard.

Bitter as it was, Éothain had been right to say he could not be the captain anymore, as much as he'd have liked. Yet the position had to be refilled: no matter their personal sentiments, Éomer knew he could not go on without riders to guard his and Lothíriel's lives. And so, couple of days after their return home, he finally made his decision about who should be his new second in command. While it was not an easy decision, it was still one that made sense to him.

The Shieldmaiden appeared at his door not long after he had sent his summons. Tall she stood, with her feet apart in the fashion of a swordswoman, though for now she had abandoned her chain-mail. She looked understandably curious as to what business the King might have with her.

"Sire? You requested to see me", she said, bowing at Éomer.

"Aye, I did. Please sit down, Ceolwen", said the King of the Mark and gestured at a chair opposite his. Ceolwen bowed again and then took the seat.

"How can I be of service, my lord?" asked the woman as soon as she had settled down.

"I do have a lot of concerns in my mind, as you may very well understand, and to be honest I have to admit I did not think of this just by myself... but Éothain keeps nagging at me and I suppose he does have a point", Éomer started, watching the woman before himself for any reactions. "As you know, most of my guard was slaughtered in the south. I would give anything if I could have them back, but alas they must be replaced by living riders."

He let out a sigh, heavy with memories of the fallen, and looked away briefly. When he went on again, his voice was softer.

"Éothain has resigned from his position as my captain. I obviously need a new one, and when I started to think of the matter, I realised there was only one I could possibly consider. That someone is you, Lady Ceolwen... if you would accept it", he finished and regarded her again straight into her eyes. She looked at him in surprise, even with something that looked like shock.

"Sire, that is... this is an honour, but why would you offer it to me?" she asked after a moment, when she regained her voice. He offered her a slight smile.

"How could I not? You stood with me from the moment I found your éored on the plains, done everything I've asked of you, guarded the life of my queen... you are a capable warrior and a level-headed leader. And you have the trust of both myself and Lothíriel", Éomer replied. He leant back slightly and regarded her, "Now, I am aware you would gladly like to start your life with Elfhelm, and that is why I only ask for a couple of years."

"And after that? You will need another captain, my lord", Ceolwen stated. She had narrowed her eyes and he deemed she was very seriously considering his offer.

"Aye, and I have already given that some thought. Do you think young Edelric could be up to it, after you and Éothain have mentored him?" Éomer asked. The Shieldmaiden tapped her chin with her forefinger as she thought about his question.

"He's a good warrior and efficient in running matters. And he seems to know how to lead men... the lad has still much to learn, but you could make a worse choice", she said at length and then smiled. "Aye, I will accept. I would give my aid in rebuilding the realm, however you may need it. Still, I will have to resign sooner or later, for I fully intend to raise a family with Elfhelm."

"Of course. A year or two is all I ask", Éomer said, smiling fully now. She nodded emphatically.

"That is settled, then", Ceolwen spoke. Suddenly she straightened up and squinted her eyes at him, "Say, have you given any thought to the riders of the Royal Guard? Then again, perhaps I shall consult with Éothain – with all due respect I do not trust your ability to look after yourself enough to let you choose your guards..."

Strange as that was, those words showed to the King of the Mark just how well he had chosen his captain.


	2. Chapter 2

Around dinnertime Lothíriel knocked at the door of the royal study. Éomer's muffled voice called her in and she entered, unsurprised to find him surrounded by piles and piles of parchments and maps.

"How is it going?" she asked as she approached him and walked around the desk. It was a large piece, and she knew it was beautifully carved – only, now it was so covered with parchments and maps and other such things that one could not exactly admire its beauty. Before it was a beautiful carpet of green and blue and white, like the plains and the sky over them and the white mountaintops to the west. A tall window exposed a view to the lands about the capital; near it was a shelf of books, which could very well be the most extensive collection in all of the Mark. There was a fireplace too, and the banner of White Horse hung on the wall behind the desk.

"Not as well as one might hope for", he muttered, looking up at her only briefly. The young queen stopped by her king's side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm having dinner with my brothers and Éowyn. We were wondering if you'd like to join us", she said with a hopeful smile. His brow furrowed.

"I would love to, but these piles will not disappear by themselves", he said and looked down at the piece of parchment and a map he had been working on upon her arrival. Gently she touched his chin and turned his face towards herself again.

"You have been working since the early morning. Don't you think you have earned a moment of peace? Even a king can't go on endlessly without food and drink – and perhaps a laugh with friends and loved ones", said Lothíriel, her voice gentle. She saw his expression become soft at hearing her words, and he pulled her into his arms. Softly she fell into his lap.

"You're right, of course", Éomer said and let out a small sigh. "I am being a rather horrible host and a brother, aren't I?"

She leant closer to kiss him, and when she pulled back she gave him a smile.

"Your sister and my brothers do understand why you are busy. To begrudge you for it is the last thing they'd do", she reminded him. Her king held her a bit tighter and momentarily rested his cheek against her arm.

"Hmm. What would I do without you?" he murmured.

"You would be buried in this chamber, never to be seen again", said the young queen and rose up on her feet. She offered him her hand, "Will you come with me?"

Her husband got up as well, easily towering over her. He claimed her hand in his.

"Always."

* * *

><p>About a week after the return to Edoras, there was a gathering for justice in Meduseld – same as the one almost two years ago now, when Lothíriel had stepped out from the crowd to ask the hand of the King of the Mark in marriage. The coming gathering was unlikely to include anything so light-hearted, however; Éothain had reported there were many disputes in the land, and by settling those perhaps the period of the underking's rule could be put to rest.<p>

She and her king both made some effort for their looks – this was apparently expected for the occasion – and he also donned on his coronet. She carried a beautiful circlet of gold, which Osythe had proudly presented to her the other day. The chatelaine had found it in the treasury gathering dust and at her request it had been cleaned and polished. It was nothing less than the pair of the King's coronet and previously it had been worn by all Queens of the Riddermark. Lothíriel was the first one to wear it in over forty years.

She felt no small amount of intimidated respect when she put it on – it felt almost like she was carrying the very history of this land on herself.

When they entered the Hall, it was already packed full with people. Quietly they regarded the royal couple as they emerged, and Lothíriel barely dared to breathe as she tried to keep up a calm countenance. Éomer had of course told her she'd be fine, but she could not help the sudden feeling of nervousness.

They took their places on the dais: next to the throne was a smaller chair brought for her – another object apparently retrieved from some dusty corner after decades of disuse. About the seats was Captain Ceolwen and the guards she had already chosen to ride and defend the King. Among them was Edelric, but others Lothíriel did not know so well yet. At any rate one did not need to look about them twice to know which one was their chief.

Soon as she and her king were settled down there was a soft rise of chatter among the crowd; briefly she had time to spot her brothers and Éowyn there too. Her sister-in-law gave winked at her and smiled, as did Erchirion, but Amrothos looked strangely solemn.

The matters brought to the King's attention that day varied, but many if not most had to do with the period of the underking's rule. There were land and property disputes, claims of harassment and blackmail and violence, even a couple of escaped wives who had been forced to wed men they did not want. Some cases Éomer could settle on spot, others his scribe had to document for further investigation. He was so focused on the task at hand that when she passed him some ale, he even momentarily looked surprised – but the way he downed the drink proved how welcome her little intervention was.

So many were the people seeking the King's justice that some of them did not even get a chance to plead their case on that day – instead, Éomer instructed them to return in one week's time, when he hopefully would be able to listen to their concerns.

They did not speak as they returned into the royal chambers. Words were not needed; he just wearily collapsed on a chair, and gone was the man who had maintained an aura of kingliness through the audience.

Once Lothíriel had placed her own circlet on a table she carefully reached for his coronet, laying it next to hers. Then quietly she settled to sit on the arm of his chair and kissed the top of his head.

He let out a sigh and rested his head against her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Here's a little something to prove I'm not dead! I've been taking something of a holiday and there has not been much time for writing. I imagine there will be even less now that Christmas is coming. Anyway, I promise I do have the epilogue of _A Light that Endures _in the works, but for one reason or the other it's taking some time to get finished. I guess that's in part because I'm reluctant to let go of the story, even with _King and Lioness _up and running.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and if I don't get around to updating _ALTE _before the next week, I wish you all great holidays!


	3. Chapter 3

To Imrahil of Dol Amroth, there was no greater happiness than the knowledge his children were safe and sound – even his wild, wayward daughter. Past months of uncertainty had not been easy, and each day he had met with the fear that he might receive a word of her passing. But then had come a day when a rider had arrived from Rohan, bringing him a letter composed in her own hand. Though in this letter she had again written about danger, somehow Imrahil had felt his spirits lifted, his hope growing.

His hope had not been in vain. For it had not been long until another letter had arrived, inviting him along with Faramir to north. Even so, he had not been able to hold back his tears of joy, knowing she and her brothers were all right.

So he and his nephew had quickly made ready for the road, as they were both anxious to see the extended family; Faramir had also received a letter from Éowyn and looked like he might just burst. On the way north he kept reading her letter over and over again, to the point where Imrahil thought the parchment would fall apart by the time they reached Edoras. The journey was anxious of course, but holding his daughter in his arms was worth the wait.

They arrived in the capital of horselords midway through March, making haste as much as they could. A guard was posted at Rohan's side of Dimholt Road, waiting for them, and a rider sped to the capital to announce the arrival of the Prince and the Steward.

"They must be waiting for us very anxiously", Faramir commented at that, and Imrahil smiled.

"Just as we are expecting to see them", he said and looked ahead, wishing to cross the leagues that remained between them quickly. Even so, the road from Dunharrow to Edoras had never quite felt as long as it felt that day, and the sight of Rohan's capital had Imrahil's heart bursting with expectation. Soon he'd see his daughter, and his sons... after all that had happened how would he find her?

The gates of the city were immediately opened for them, and Imrahil had to hold back his wish to race uphill and towards the Golden Hall. Spying a glance of his nephew's face he knew Faramir too was fighting an urge to speed to meet his wife; this was indeed a day of many dear reunions. But where his sister's son could rest assured with the knowledge Éowyn would be coming home with him, Imrahil knew another parting awaited beyond what precious days he could have with his only daughter. Yet painful as it was, this was the sacrifice he had accepted when he had given his blessing to the union between his daughter and the King of the Mark.

At last they reached the courtyard of Meduseld, and there up the steps of the Hall they stood, and only the two princes were missing, but he could ask later where they were... for Lothíriel let out a cry and she came dashing down the stairs, and Imrahil barely had time to dismount before she leapt on him.

He pulled her close and tight, his dear only daughter, just vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his face. Oh, his daughter! That last sight of her before she had left Pelargir, the letter she had left, the months of uncertainty... all was mended and pain of longing was gone, for his Lothíriel was safe and sound.

Eventually he had to pull back to properly look at her – both of them busy blinking tears from their eyes.

She had changed, of course, but he had not expected anything else. The extent of it, though... when he looked at her now, he could see she had lost this naïve glimmer in her eyes. It had been replaced by a stark, bright shine of a woman strong and fearless, one who knew her potency and dared to trust it. Though he would miss her terribly once he returned home, Imrahil knew his fay-child would be just fine.

* * *

><p>A couple of days after Father and Faramir had arrived in the Mark, Lothíriel and Osythe were in the middle of supervising taking down the great banners of the Hall for cleaning, when the doors of Meduseld were opened. Both women turned to see who was arriving and were surprised to see Ceolwen with Amrothos. Well, it was not them really that surprised the two women, but rather Amrothos' state: he was covered in mud and wearing the expression of a man in the middle of an existential crisis. The King's Captain, however, was grinning.<p>

"Béma, what happened to you, Amrothos?" asked Elfhelm from his seat near the hearth. He had returned from a patrol to the eastern parts only yesterday. Though he and Ceolwen had a home in Astdun, presently both were situated in Edoras ("If you expect me to stay in Astdun alone without my wife, you are mistaken.").

"We were sparring, dear husband", Ceolwen stated and her grin only grew wider. Though she had taken off her rich green cloak, the one that marked her as one of the King's Riders, she was still in chain-mail, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Notably there was no mud on her. Seeing Éomer and Imrahil had been locked in the royal study since the morning, her services as captain were not needed, and so she had readily agreed to Amrothos' challenge.

The prince looked like he had just witnessed the appearance of Manwë himself.

"She beat me!" was the only thing he managed.

"Poor darling", Lothíriel said, fighting back her smile. She knew her brother thought very highly of his swordsmanship, and it wasn't entirely unwarranted either. However, she had seen Ceolwen in battle; not only was the Shieldmaiden as tall as many men, she was also just as strong. But what made her a truly formidable fighter was her skill with arms. A Rohirric man would have known to be careful – though it would not have guaranteed his victory – but for a Gondorian, Shieldmaidens were entirely strange.

Elfhelm beamed. He set aside his mug of ale and strode to his wife, whom he lifted from the ground in a mighty bearhug.

"I love you, Ceolwen!" he announced loudly and kissed her right there. She laughed and wrapped arms about her husband's neck. Some quiet words were exchanged between them and Elfhelm grinned.

Osythe let out a small laugh and shook her head.

"Your husband knew what he was doing when he appointed her his captain, Lothíriel. I would love to see anyone trying to get through her", she said warmly to the young queen (they had already agreed to drop the titles). The chatelaine spoke again, "Shall I have a bath drawn for the Prince?"

"I imagine he should appreciate it, Osythe", said Lothíriel and reached over to pat her brother's shoulder. "Don't be so downcast. It's not shameful to be beaten by a great warrior."

"Rohan is truly a scary place", Amrothos muttered and rubbed his cheek. "I see now why you are so at home here."

Hearing that, the young queen had to laugh.

"It took you this long to understand?"

* * *

><p>Night had come to Meduseld again. A steady rise and fall of chatter and occasional laughter filled the Hall; the warm atmosphere was something Éomer remembered well and welcomed, and he had to consider once more how good it felt to be home. It had not been easy to make it here, but he was glad for every effort.<p>

His gaze wandered to where his wife was sitting with her father and cousin. The three were talking animatedly and he was pleased to see how happy Lothíriel looked. Even if he could give her the world, he could not provide her with the joy of having near her Gondorian family.

Imrahil, on the other hand, seemed to be somewhere between happiness and the feeling of bittersweet. He would miss his only daughter dearly once he'd return home, and Éomer could very well understand it. The prince had to know what a generous gift he had given in granting his blessing to his daughter's marriage to a man of the Mark.

He was disrupted from his thoughts by the arrival of Éothain by his side. To Éomer it seemed that the conversation they had shared on the day of the feast of return had restored some of his friend's spirits – he was certainly proving to be a very energetic member of council, and he already was overseeing the training of some lads who wished to become Riders. It was as the King had surmised: Éothain had just needed to see his own potential.

"How long are they staying?" asked the older man and glanced at his king.

"For a week more or so. Neither of them can afford a longer trip", Éomer replied, his eyes moving from his wife to the men of her kin. "She will miss her family terribly. I wish I could do something..."

"Your wife is a tough lady", Éothain said comfortingly. "And being the Queen will keep her busy."

"Aye. That is true", Éomer had to agree. He let out a small sigh and turned his eyes once more to Lothíriel. She was laughing now at something, and her eyes glimmered with joy unburdened. If only she could be always so!

"Such is life. We will always have to let go of things we love, no matter how much it hurts", said his friend. Only a faintest note of bitterness was to be found in his voice, and the King of the Mark did not wonder why it was there. He knew Éothain spoke with the voice of experience.

He reached to rest his hand on his friend's shoulder. The former captain met his gaze quietly, even tried to smile.

"Still there is much to be glad about", Éomer spoke quietly. "What is more, we survived. We owe it to our brothers in arms to live and strive to make each day count."

"You are right", Éothain replied softly and lowered his eyes; on his face there was the remembrance of the Riders who had died in the south. "This all... it cannot have happened for nothing. I will do all that I can to help you, my king. This land will be beautiful and glad again."

* * *

><p>After a while, Father excused himself to go and get something to drink and stretch his legs a bit. Lothíriel suspected he also wanted to give his daughter and nephew a moment alone. Faramir looked to be on a good mood, sitting relaxed next to her and with a mug of ale in his hand. The figure of Éowyn had drawn his eye: she was at the other side of the hall talking with Scýne, but she threw an occasional smile at Faramir.<p>

"I cannot say how happy it makes me to know the madness of late is finally over", Faramir spoke then, glancing at his cousin. "I look forward to the more peaceful times."

"As do I, cousin", Lothíriel replied and took a sip of her own ale. She looked at him carefully, "I'm really sorry for dragging Éowyn away from you like that. I know it can't have been easy for you..."

Faramir gave her a gentle little smile and he reached to pat her forearm.

"It is quite fine. I understand why she had to do it, and I know you needed her help", he said and sat back again. He sighed softly and spoke again, his voice more quiet now, "Of course, it has not been an easy year, and many a night I have lain awake worrying about all the things that could happen to her, and to you... but since I married Éowyn I have come to know true happiness. I would not deny it from you, or from Éomer. So I told myself: if your deliverance can be bought with my pain of parting from Éowyn, then I would pay that price. And her return is all the sweeter."

Hearing those words, Lothíriel could not help but put aside her mug and reach to hug her cousin. He smiled at her gently and patted her shoulder; she had to wipe an errant tear from her cheek when she pulled back.

"Thank you, cousin. Your words mean a lot to me", she said in quiet tones. "Éowyn has been such great help in things small and great. I do not think I would have got far without her."

"She lends her strength to others. It is her gift", Faramir simply said and looked at his wife. Then he turned towards her, and when he spoke he was smiling, "Just as you lend your light."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I didn't think I would be able to update anything before Christmas holidays, but you know me and my weird sleeping patterns! Here are some little family moments, hope you like it!

The epilogue of _ALTE _is advancing, but it does go kind of slowly. It is in the works though, and I will try to upload it before the New Year. Anyway, I once more wish you merry holidays!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Yes, I thought it would be good to show that they would have their challenges in returning to ruling. Glad you liked it. :) I wish you Merry Christmas as well, and a great New Year!


	4. Chapter 4

After another long day a night had come, and before falling asleep Lothíriel had considered it a success because she had been able to persuade Éomer to finish the work earlier than usual in the favour of a hot bath with her. Far as she could see he was on a fairly good mood, especially after a relaxing bath, and that was probably the reason she did not expect anything when she snuggled close to him in the bed.

It was his troubled tossing and turning that awakened her in the dead of the night. Half awake, she heard him mutter under his breath – the words were too muffled for her to make out clearly.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, reaching for his shoulders to shake him gently.

"Éomer, please wake up. It's just a dream", she called to him, frowning even as she tried to reach him; it had been some time since she had last woken up to his nightmares.

Seeing she was still not fully awake herself, and the fact she was with him, his reaction came as a complete surprise. As a result to her surprise and shock she could not answer it, not before he had grabbed her by wrists and pinned her down with his own body weight. Just before he came out of the nightmare, she saw on his face a terrible and ferocious look, as though he was caught in some memory of the south.

"It's me, beloved", she managed to stutter, and at last his eyes cleared. The fury was replaced with dread and shock, and fast he rolled away from her.

Éomer moved to the edge of the bed and sat down there, heaving deep breaths. She crawled next to him and carefully reached for his shoulder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked before she could speak.

"No. You just startled me", Lothíriel said gently and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, noting only very briefly the cold sweat on his skin.

"I am sorry", he sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

"It is fine. You didn't do it on purpose", she murmured, keeping her tone calming and soft. He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was very quiet.

"Perhaps you should sleep in the Queen's chambers", he muttered and she didn't almost hear him.

"Why would I ever want to do that?" she wondered out loud, which at last made him glance at her.

"What do you think might have happened if there had been a knife close to my hand just now?" Éomer asked ominously, but the severity on his face made her realise how deeply the mere idea frightened him.

"Dear heart", Lothíriel said softly, "I have spent numberless nights next to you since the south, and you never harmed me in any way, even though you had not healed as much as you now have."

He grunted as a reply and she reached to kiss his temple. Against his skin she whispered, "I never sleep very well without you, anyway."

"You are certain you're all right?" he asked, still half unconvinced.

"Absolutely. Now come back to sleep", she suggested and pulled gently at his hand.

Moments later, she was curled up against him once more... hoping that the rest of the night would be peaceful.

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's a little update for the first day of the year! I hope you have had great holidays, my dear readers, and will have a great year. It is strange to realise it was two years ago that I posted the first chapter of _Heart's Desire _on this site. Hopefully, I will be posting many more stories before all is said and done!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Yes, it did feel nice to bring them together once more. :) These side stories and continuations definitely give a chance of saying many things that did not make it into the main story.

**Anonymous - **Thank you! I must confess I rather enjoyed writing that little bit. :D Amrothos had no idea of what he was getting himself into. And of course Elfhelm is tremendously proud!


	5. Chapter 5

About two weeks after Lothíriel's family had departed, word came from the Wold to report sightings of orcs. Apparently it was a smallish band, but still very much worth the notice: a famished pack of orcs could mean serious trouble for the folk living in the lands of Eastemnet. Moreover, reports spoke of a huge uruk leading them, and Éomer deemed it must be some survivor from Isengard. He knew the like well and also the damage such creature could cause if left alive.

To the young queen, it looked like the news somehow energised her husband; though Éomer enjoyed orc attacks as little as anyone, it did give him a chance of breaking out of the prison that was his study and council chamber. While he made a point of going for a ride every day and sparring with one of his riders, action did come to a need. In his heart of hearts, Éomer was always a warrior.

When he told her he would be riding out come the next light, Lothíriel made up her own mind quickly.

"I think I should be coming with you", she stated, rubbing her chin thoughtfully and went over everything she'd have to see to before departure. His brow knit and she could see he was thinking of some reason she should stay behind. Why that was, she couldn't tell exactly; after everything that had happened during the past year, she knew he trusted her skills. But perhaps this was not a rational thing for him at all.

"It should not be anything very serious", he said at length, and she reached to pat his arm.

"Which is exactly why it would be a good idea for me to come with you. To be honest, I could use some fresh air too", she started and took his hand in hers. "Not to mention it is a good opportunity for me to learn more about war. I can't imagine a better teacher than you."

"You should not have to learn about war more than you already have", Éomer muttered reluctantly.

"Maybe not, but I'm not a princess in my father's castle anymore. I'm your queen, and we do not know what future might bring. There could be times I will have to face battle without your guidance and leadership. At such a time all experience should be only useful", she explained her thoughts to him, and watching his face she knew he had to agree. So, eventually Éomer sighed and nodded.

"Very well then", he said and pulled her into his arms. She tiptoed to kiss him and wrapped arms about his neck.

"You're being a fuss", she told him gently, which brought a smile to his face.

"Aye, I suppose you are right", he allowed and kissed her again, and would probably have let it go far longer had there not been a patrol to plan.

On the morrow they departed at first light, and many members of the household stopped to watch them go. To herself, Lothíriel wondered if it was more about this being the first time since Kin-strife that Éomer was leaving Edoras, or if it was considered very odd that the Queen should still be riding with the King. Osythe at least had not said much – she had merely nodded when Lothíriel had explained her reasoning and said she'd take care of all while the Lady of Meduseld was gone.

Though the reason for this campaign was not a pleasant one, Lothíriel still could not help but enjoy being on the move. When she and Éomer had first come to Edoras, she had thought there would not be slightest desire in her heart to leave their home for a long time. But perhaps this came as a fresh change only because she knew they would be going home soon as trouble with orcs was over.

The lands of the Wold were wilder than rest of the realm – the herders did not come there at all, and aside from the occasional patrolling éored, only Rohirric hunters dared the dangers of the North-mark. Ceolwen, riding close to the young queen, said it was because of orcs.

"The main concern of éoreds has always been to protect the people rather than the empty lands to the north. This is why Éomer means to establish new settlements in the Wold. Cultivating the land will also make it safer", she said.

"He has told me about it, yes", Lothíriel said and gazed ahead. She had heard there were more bogs in these parts, which made travelling there perilous, unless one knew the safe routes. If one kept going, one would reach the forest of Fangorn... and then beyond lay the Golden Wood. She had heard Rohirrim had superstitions about that place, or at least used to have. The end of the Ring War had changed many things, and she knew Éomer had sworn friendship with the Lord Celeborn back in Minas Tirith.

"It troubles him too. New villages are not easily built when there are not enough men..." she continued then, frowning as she spoke. "It makes me feel so angry and helpless, knowing Feran's deeds are still impacting us. Even if Kin-strife has ended, it will slow down all the plans Éomer had for rebuilding the realm."

"I know. It is an evil thing but we must not let it dampen our spirit", Ceolwen stated firmly. Lothíriel nodded grimly and held on tighter to her bow. Even now it remained something of a talisman to her.

Her husband called to his captain then, and Ceolwen urged forward her horse. Her long hair flowed in braids down her back and shined brightly against her green mantle – somehow, Lothíriel thought the sight of Ceolwen was unreal, but perhaps that was just the Gondorian in her. The Queen had to smile as she considered her friend. No wonder Elfhelm was smitten with this Shieldmaiden.

It was a several days' journey to the lands of the Wold, but Lothíriel did not mind. Not only was she glad for a chance of observing seasoned riders on the move, to learn the workings of an éored, but she also saw the positive impact this had on Éomer. He seemed to be on a fairly good mood and she knew it was because this was known to him like a second nature. If he was ever burdened by the concerns of kingship, he could always fall back on what he knew as a warrior. On the other hand it was interesting to observe him as a leader in arms and how easily it came to him – and how men followed him. One did not have to watch him for long to understand just why he had been appointed Marshal at such a young age.

He and his captain came up with a plan to ensnare the orcs rather quickly. Some horses and a few riders would graze the plain as herders would, while the rest of the éored lay in wait. A herd of horses would attract the orcs; for though a Rohirric steed would never let an orc ride him, a famished pack would not be able to resist the opportunity of some fresh meat. Their hunger would make them reckless as well.

The most difficult part was the wait. Day became night, but it did not mean rest for the King's Riders; without the enemy's will to drive them, night-time was when the orcs would be on the move. Lothíriel did not complain, though her patience was tried. After all, she had asked to come along and she did not want to give Éomer a reason to regret it. And she could remember things Boromir had taught her long ago – he had said that sometimes, patience was nearly as important as skill in arms.

She shook her head and tried to concentrate on the present moment. If patience was important, so was focus.

The young queen breathed in the cool air of night and fingered the handle of her bow. She cast a glance to Edelric nearby; he along with nine other men was appointed as archer for the battle. His smaller Rohirric bow did not have the range hers did, but Lothíriel knew how effective those could be when wielded by a riding Eorling, and at any rate they were more than sufficient for the battle ahead.

Erkenbrand's son gave her a brief smile before quickly glancing over the rock they were using as cover. All was still calm in the sheltered cove below. Horses were quiet as well – their sharp ears and eyes were usually the best guard against creeping orcs.

Minutes dragged by, each moment long as a year. Sitting in one position had numbed her limbs and carefully she stretched herself. She could not be stiff and slow when the time came. Éomer had warned her that orcs could be dangerously fast, and she must be able to answer the attack just as ferociously.

In the quiet stillness it was easy to lose one's sense of time and Lothíriel found her eyelids drooping. She shook her head and pinched the back of her hand to stay alert. Falling asleep in the middle of an ambush was no way to learn, nor would it convince her husband that his paranoia was unwarranted.

It was a whinny from the herd that alarmed her suddenly. A glance at Edelric confirmed he had taken notice of it too, and his expression spoke in volumes. The archers shifted and readied, waiting for the right moment.

Slowly, carefully, Lothíriel lifted up her head, but only so much that she could just about see down into the cove. She saw the dark shapes, but though moonlight was bright she could not make out much of their features. Then again, she felt like if you had seen one orc, you had seen them all, and she certainly did not fancy the idea of gazing upon them longer than was necessary. Only once before in her life had she seen an orc up close and the memory was clear, for how could she forget that fateful night in the woods of Ithilien?

_Steady now, _she thought to herself as she took several deep breaths. Concentrating on her bow, on the sharpness of her arrow, and the nearing moment she would send it on its way, cleared her mind: there was nothing but this instance.

And then, when the foremost orc was only few feet away from the herd, that instance burst into the flame of battle.

There was, Lothíriel surmised afterwards, a kind of steel sharp focus in the middle of a battle. It was different from fighting Men, and it tied with all the dreadful stories her brothers had told her about orcs, and with the knowledge these creatures could not be swayed to mercy. Falling into their hands, the best one could hope for was being killed on the spot. For being left alive would mean horrors beyond imagination.

The reports had spoken of a dozen orcs at best, but what they met was twice more, and Lothíriel had time to think it was a good thing Éomer himself had decided to see to it. This was a large, ferocious pack, led by a huge uruk that could only be from Isengard. It could have turned out very bad for the archers had they been alone, but this was just a part of the plan. When they had engaged the marauding pack, it was time for the riders to make their appearance.

Silfren's coat shimmered in moonlight, and for a brief instance that was fuelled by the rush of battle, Lothíriel thought he lent this shimmer to his rider. Éomer came riding and with him was Ceolwen, along with twenty men on horses, and a wild feeling of hope and joy filled Lothíriel's heart. From that point, it was clear as to how the rest would go. The young queen had to think if this was how it had always been – if even in his younger years his arrival to the battle had always ignited such hope in the hearts of the people he fought for and protected?

He was magnificent in battle, but that Lothíriel had known from the beginning; yet still she could not help the moment of admiration when he charged at the uruk leading the pack. Seeing movement in the corner of her eye she had to shake herself from gaping about like a common idiot and send an arrow to end one orc's flight from the battle.

The uruk's head sailed through the air, and with the creature's death, it was over.

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><p>It was past midday when they finally entered the Watch of the Wold – most of the night had gone by in piling the carcasses and burning them. The Watch was the first garrison in the area, meant to help with establishing new villages in this part of the realm. Building it had started before the southern campaign and carried through Feran's time, and now the Hall was nearly finished with the adjoining steads and stables. Of course, the garrison was far from finished, but in the future it would guard the North-mark, hopefully making it a safer place for living.<p>

The arrival of such a company seemed to electrify the entire settlement, and when Lothíriel handed over the reins of her mare, the young stablehand stared at her with wide eyes. When she smiled at him he blinked and blushed, until an older lad slapped him on the back of his head and he hurried along. Apparently it was not often that queens rode with éoreds.

Even so, she did not miss the lad's whispered question when he thought she was out of hearing range: "Do you think she could be an Elf?"

Éomer had heard the question too, judging by his smile.

Captain Osgar was in charge of the Watch and he was the one to welcome King's Riders. He was a gruff man who had few friends, but according to Éomer as a warrior and a leader he knew his business. Still, though he was respectful towards his king, Lothíriel felt he did not harbour particular fondness for her. When she saw him giving similar sour looks to Ceolwen, the young queen thought perhaps in his world women had no business riding in an éored. But even if he believed so, he obviously wasn't going to say it to the Queen and the King's Captain.

The sullen man fell from her thoughts soon enough, for she and her king were offered the best rooms in the Hall, and after a long night both were eager to get cleaned up and rest for a little while. So, after Éomer had thanked the captain and received promises his riders would be looked after, the royal couple made their exit for the time being.

The rooms were a simple Eorling kind and there was no unnecessary furnishings or decorations. But those were not needed: the merry fire in a hearth and some water for bathing were more than enough to her at least.

They undressed of their gear in a companionable silence – she undid the buckles on his chest plate and he helped her out of the chain-mail. They would speak of the battle later, and perhaps they'd discuss what she had learnt and his assessment of her performance. All that could wait, though... especially when she suddenly took note of the expression on her husband's face.

He had stopped with the task of getting rid of his gear. Instead, he was watching her as she undid the lacings of the coat she had worn under the mail. She knew that look and the way it travelled about her form... the heat of it, the possessiveness she welcomed... and she answered it by standing straighter, meeting boldly his gaze, and letting the coat drop from her shoulders.

In seconds hands were grabbing her hips. The grip was tight and demanding and his fingers were iron, but it did not hurt – it was the very opposite. Her own arms she wound about her horselord's neck, entangled her fingers in his mane, and pulled his head closer. She met his mouth hungrily with her own, tasting the saltiness of sweat in the kiss. He smelled of wind, of the fury of battle, of male musk; her head suddenly felt dizzy for all the sensations assaulting her mind.

Hastily Lothíriel reached to release him of the leaf mail and then the chain-mail, and Éomer was already pulling down her leggings. Then soon as her undergarments were gone he lifted her against the wall, for there was not even question about whether they'd make it as far as the bed, and she could not remember the last time she had felt such mindless and demanding _lust. _When she received him, her thighs and shins locked about his waist just as tightly as he held her, and her nails dug into the fabric of his coat. There was nothing gentle about that embrace but it didn't have to be, and each thrust had her moaning louder, until she was past caring if the entire Hall heard her.

She was spent before her husband, but she didn't mind watching him with half-open eyes... overwhelmed by the knowledge that _this _belonged to her, and no one else would know the total abandon and bareness of his face in the middle of passion. Then he threw himself at her one last time and called her name, his voice more song than a spoken word.

Idly she wondered if he felt just as wobbly as she did, and if the wall behind her back was the only thing keeping them upright. But after several minutes of ragged breathing and clumsy kisses he slowly lowered her down again, and surprisingly her feet did carry her still. Helpfully she buckled his belt for him again and smiled lazily, "I think I have the pattern of the wall panels pressed into my backside."

Éomer's answering smile was just as wicked.

"That is most unfortunate for your poor backside. I will make amends later, my lady", he replied, his voice low and rich and husky. Even after such a thorough treatment Lothíriel felt tempted once more, especially when she looked at him.

What was it about a sweaty, dirty man? She had a feeling she'd never know.

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><p><strong>AN: **I did not think I would be updating so soon, but you know me and my insane muse! And this one pretty much demanded to be written. Who doesn't like some post-battle steamy scenes with our favourite horselord and his lady love? ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Thalia - <strong>There just are some stories that refuse to die! I suppose it is surprising that Éomer chose Ceolwen as his captain, but I think he has changed enough to make some surprising decisions, and she has certainly proved herself to him.

**Jo - **Thank you! :)

**Talia119 - **Originally I did mean to go for more _Flickers _kind of style, but I guess things got out of hand again. I suppose this is kind of between _ALTE _and _Flickers. _Anyway I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it! :)

I think he'd have an occasional nightmare, too. Stuff he went through is bound to come back every now and then, and especially in dreams our minds can be very vulnerable. I don't really think he'd harm her either, but he is afraid of that anyway - I'd say it ties with his fear that he might lose her. Fears are not rational emotions, after all!

We'll see how it goes with their kids! :)


	6. Chapter 6

After the long ride from Edoras, the battle against orcs, and then disposing of their carcasses, Lothíriel herself would have preferred a quiet evening. But Éomer did not need to explain why they should share the supper with the men of the Watch. She knew his people ought to see him, and these days he was often so busy he could not afford rides to remote places like the Wold.

So, after they had bathed, spent a couple of hours resting, and found some clean clothes from their saddlebags, it was about the time to join the others in the hall.

"Are you quite ready? I must warn you, there are very few women in the Watch, because until recently it has not been the safest location in the Mark. The men may act in like fashion", Éomer said to her before they made their appearance.

"Are they all like Lord Osgar?" she asked with a slight frown.

"I would say his prejudices are the harshest you will find here. I do not know why it is, but he doesn't appreciate women bearing arms, not even Shieldmaidens. Others should not be as opinionated, but neither are they alike the graceful noblemen of Gondor", he answered. She could not hold back a small snort.

"Believe me, those Gondorian noblemen are not always quite so graceful. I can deal with a few ill-mannered males", she said glumly, and her husband smiled.

"I know you can – I have personal experience of it, my fierce Lioness", he said and reached to kiss her briefly. "You and Ceolwen will have no trouble making yourself at home, I imagine..."

When they entered the hall, the men rose up from their seats by the tables, and there was the noise of benches scratching the floors. Quietly Lothíriel wondered if she should have packed at least one split skirt – though she had met many of these men during the aftermath of Kin-strife, the occasion had been far less formal, and at any rate the sites of war were not places for showing off one's wardrobe. Lord Osgar at least was unlikely to welcome the Lady of the Mark wearing leggings. Éomer had told her anyone who mistook her for a man was a fool, but perhaps a bit of formality would still have been in order.

It could not be helped now, though – let them come to Edoras if they wanted to see proper queens.

She walked with her king to the dais, similar as the one back home, where a table had been prepared for the King. Éomer noticed what was wrong with it before she did.

"Lord Osgar, have you not set a place for my Queen?" he asked, his voice low but sharp. Indeed, there was the centre spot, and then Osgar's own seat on his right. Ceolwen had been stationed on his left.

"My lord, will the Queen not wait upon you?" asked the gruff man. From the corner of her eye Lothíriel saw the frown deepening on her husband's face.

"My wife the Queen rides not as a servant but as an archer. She requires supper just as any man of my guard", he stated, his voice bearing witness to his displeasure.

"My lady, please take my seat", Ceolwen put in and made way; she and Edelric seemed to be of a like mind, because he instantly forsook his seat for the captain and stepped down from the dais. Erkenbrand's son did not make a show of joining the King's Riders on the lower tables, but he did not have to – many if not all eyes were on him nevertheless. Lord Osgar's face shifted and his mouth became a thin line, but he said nothing. Éomer considered him for one moment more, but then he turned towards his wife, helped her to sit down, and then took seat himself. All present sat down to enjoy their meal.

Lothíriel did not understand what had just taken place, not before Ceolwen leant towards her during the first course.

"I take it you have already surmised what Lord Osgar thinks of us two", she whispered to the young queen's ear, "but I have a feeling he will be most respectful for the rest of our stay, and consider carefully what he does and says."

"Why is that?" Lothíriel asked quietly.

"His negligence just caused Edelric, the son of a Marshal, to take seat in the lower tables. Of course the lad didn't have to do it, but his deed draws attention to the disrespect Lord Osgar has shown tonight not only to you but also the King. In addition relieved our king from having to address to it, which I believe would be unpleasant for him", Ceolwen explained. Lothíriel thought of this for a moment and glanced at her friend.

"Oh dear. And here I thought in coming to live in the Mark I had freed myself of the tyranny of etiquette", she muttered half-seriously. A wry smile visited Ceolwen's face.

"Don't despair, my friend. We are usually more relaxed, but respect is an important thing in the Mark. That's what you get with a people so proud", she said and sipped her ale.

"I hope he wasn't too difficult with you", said the younger woman; she had been happily preoccupied with her husband, but perhaps the sullen man had caused more grief to the King's Captain.

"It was nothing. I could see he was not comfortable with me, but I suppose it was easier for him to be polite to King's Captain than the Queen, bizarre as that may be", Ceolwen muttered and her brow knit slightly.

"It certainly is bizarre", Lothíriel confirmed and looked at her friend for an explanation.

"Well, I could be wrong, but I have a feeling he deals easier with Shieldmaidens, though he does not like my kind. After all, women of the Mark have participated in battles since times immemorial and among them are heroines whose name are remembered in songs just as are the names of great heroes. You, however... you are from the south and Osgar must have seen ladies of Stoningland after the war had ended. You don't fit any criteria he is familiar with... he is old enough to remember Morwen Queen, and if anything can be said based on stories, you and the old queen are carved from very different trees", Ceolwen spoke. She took note of the fathomless look on her queen's face, and smiled again wryly. "Beyond that, I can't explain it. Men are sometimes so irrational."

Her statement made Lothíriel laugh at last. It earned her a glance from her husband – he smiled slightly, perhaps because he thought she was not upset by Lord Osgar's poor manners – and the two women proceeded into a hushed but entirely fond conversation about the oddities of their respective husbands. Éomer remained blissfully unaware of it.

The rest of the supper did not see more conflicting events, and towards the end of it Lothíriel felt kind of tired. Once she had urged Ceolwen to go and join the other Riders, she reached to kiss her husband's cheek and murmured softly against his skin that she'd seek bed soon. He turned so that he could properly answer her kiss, and soon as it ended she whispered mischievously that he should not stay behind for too long – he still had amends to make. Her words brought a glint into his eyes that she knew to mean her demise.

"I will follow you soon, my Queen", Éomer promised.

Even as the thought of bed tempted her, Lothíriel decided she'd catch some fresh air before retiring. Most of the men paid her no heed as she made towards the end of the hall, which for the most part was because she walked behind the shadows of the pillars, similar as those in Meduseld, but mostly undecorated still – in building the Watch, the carvings Rohirrim were so fond of had not been the first priority. She recalled Éomer had spoken of stationing a Marshal here, so perhaps the Hall would be made more beautiful when some time had passed and some sufficiently energetic family had taken to inhabit the place.

Night's air was cool against her face but she welcomed it as she stepped outside. March was at hand and spring was nearing – her first spring as the Queen of Rohan. Foaling season would come soon and all the realm would be full of bustle, if Éothain's words could be believed.

Lothíriel stopped to stand in the shadows of the Hall's entrance and regarded the vistas extending about the hill on which the garrison had been built on. It was not quite as great as the hill of Edoras and the lands around it rolled steeper, but it still very obviously commanded the area. In the air she smelt the smoke from peat they used to warm up the houses. Perhaps she just imagined it but it was as though the very air was here somehow more untamed than in the lands she knew near Edoras.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of two men. She did not recognise them as members of King's Company – they had to be men stationed in the Watch. Judging by their slight stagger they had to be well into their cups.

She'd have announced herself, but then the two began to speak, and she froze where she stood.

"... I say it's not fair, even if he's king... gets to bring his woman with him. She's not even a Shieldmaiden! What business does a lady have in the wild, unless she's there to amuse him..." one of them muttered, wavering on his feet.

"Béma's balls, what wouldn't I give to get to ride _that _mare... never thought one of them ladies from Stoningland would have so much fire in them or make such noise..." mumbled the shorter and stouter of the two before downing at least half of the contents of his mug.

For the first time ever since agreeing to marry Éomer, Lothíriel regretted acquiring knowledge of Rohirric. Her cheeks were flaming with a mixture of anger and embarrassment and she had to battle an urge to go and punch down both of the drunken pigs. Men!

"Heh, you try touching this mare and we lads will be picking up your pieces all over the Mark" retorted the first one.

"He's not the same he used to be. Who says he'd care? Maybe the little lady wouldn't mind a different taste of Rohan... would make her scream like that..."

The only reason she did not stride straight to the drunken man and kick him down the hill was her shock for having to listen to such talk – she had never heard anyone, not male or female, talk about her in such a fashion.

However, it turned out Lothíriel did not need to be the upholder of her own honour. For suddenly there was a cursing voice in the dark, and she realised she wasn't the only one who had been listening to this uncouth conversation. She just about had time to recognise his face in the light of torches, but then young Alger, a recent addition to the King's Guard, delivered a blow of fist with enough force to send the short man rolling down the steps of the Hall.

"I swear, if you speak of my lady Queen in that way _ever again...!" _

"What is this ruckus?" asked the voice of Ceolwen, sharp and stern like a blade of steel. She stood in the doorway of the Hall, her shape in stark contrast against the light streaming from inside. The other drunken fellow stood motionless as well, though for one reason or the other he had lifted up his arms into the air.

"Just teaching manners, Captain. There seems to be a general shortage of decency in this part of the realm, especially towards our Queen", Alger answered and bowed to the Shieldmaiden. The drunkard made a vague mumbling sound that could have been in agreement or not.

Ceolwen groaned and shook her head.

"What was Ilúvatar even _thinking _when he came up with you lot?" she muttered to herself, her voice bearing the weight of years and years of dealing with intoxicated riders. "Did any of you see the Queen, by the way? The King is missing her."

"Here I am", Lothíriel announced herself. The drunken man, the one who was still on his feet, went very pale at the sight of her. She gave him the kind of smile a sword would give if it could. "You were right – you _would _be picking up his pieces all over the Mark."

Ceolwen blinked, Alger looked admiring, the short drunkard gave a snore, and his friend mumbled something that sounded like an apology. The young queen paid him no more heed. Instead, she bid good night to her friend and the young man – for him, she spared a kinder smile as thanks – and made her way inside.

Hopefully, Éomer would just laugh when he heard of this.

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><p><strong>AN: **Happy Tuesday and greetings from my insane muse! Originally I did not mean to write more about the trip to the Wold, but somehow the reviews to the last chapter inspired me to continue for at least this one chapter. Hopefully this shows that while women of the Mark lead different lives than their Gondorian sisters, they still have their problems and troubles every now and then. Also, Ceolwen is proving to be incredibly entertaining to write!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Talia119 - <strong>I must say, I did quite enjoy writing that end part of the chapter. ;) Glad to hear my efforts were not wasted! I think both Éomer and Lothíriel are the kind of active people that it would be a turn on for them both.

I would say Osgar is a problem only as far as Lothíriel (and Ceolwen, to an extent) goes. No matter his misgivings towards the ladies, he is still loyal to Éomer. But we will see! :)

**Thalia - **That he certainly is! And he's not so consumed by his fears that he would not hear sense in her words.

**Jo - **Thank you! I hope you had nice holidays too. :) And yes, they are one fine couple!

**Felion - **Glad to hear that! :)

You make a good point there. It's true, he can't always depend on her and he will have to see it for sure, sooner or later. Same goes for Lothíriel.


	7. Chapter 7

Technically, Lothíriel had known a time would come she could not go with Éomer when he rode out. Éowyn had once said that the Queens of the Mark had sometimes different duties than their Gondorian sisters – in the King's absence she was his voice, and so there would always be times when she would have to stay behind. Ruling was her concern as much as his, especially when he was gone.

Yet even as she knew this on a rational level, it was still difficult to let him go, and the mere idea brought her the feeling of aversion. The southern road had left her with a fear that if she was not with him, something horrible might happen... but it had also made her always look for his hand to steady her, even if her feet were firmly on ground.

She was not alone with the feeling of uneasiness. For as she helped him to get ready, she could feel his eyes on her, following her every move.

"Do you have everything you need?" she asked, having secured the buckles of his breast plate.

"Aye", Éomer replied quietly, but she did not miss the implications in his voice. She sighed and wound her arms about him, trying to tell herself there was nothing to worry about.

"I wish I could come with you", she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder.

"And I wish I never had to ride out without you. But you have to let me go", he replied in muffled tones. Gently he lifted her chin so that he could see her eyes, "It will get easier with time."

She knew what he meant – the ways they had travelled together, leaning on one another, and finding comfort and faith in each other... the only time he had been gone had been in the middle of Kin-strife, and then the urgency of the battle for the Mark had sustained them both. The young queen did not think those bonds that had grown between them since the south could be severed, but perhaps they could be loosened.

Perhaps they _needed _to be loosened.

"Just be careful", she told him.

"Of course. I'm convinced Ceolwen will take very good care of me. She makes such a wonderful mother hen, I think she may even surpass Éothain", he told her with a slight smile, which did cheer her up a bit.

After one more embrace and several kisses, he took his helmet and side by side they made their way out. Ceolwen waited outside for the King, and she too was in full gear ready for the road. She stood tall rested a hand on the pommel of her sword with the ease of an experienced swordfighter; indeed, Lothíriel could trust this woman to guard her husband.

The young queen escorted her king all the way outside. Down in the courtyard his Riders were ready and waiting for him, and Silfren stood there as well. She could not say she truly understood the relationship between Éomer and the great stallion, but on the other hand she had a feeling no one really did. It was something from an older and stranger world than the one they lived in – a story without words, and an explanation that could not be made.

Before he strode down the steps of Meduseld, Éomer turned towards his wife once more. The kiss he gave her was a brief one, for he knew not to prolong it any more than that. She had to fight the urge to grab his hand, remind herself this was a selfish and an irrational reaction, and instead she crossed her arms on her chest.

Éomer went, lifting his helmet upon his head, and mounted Silfren in one swift movement. Ceolwen leapt into saddle as well and moved to his side; on the other was the banner-bearer. The White Horse was once more roaming free in the land of Eorlingas. She knew not what had happened to the standard of two spears, which Feran had used, but she suspected fire had been involved.

Lothíriel's eyes were fixed on her king and so she barely noticed Marshal Elfhelm as the man came to a halt by her side – she had not known he was here too, though of course he would be present to send his wife on her way. Quietly they stood, watching their loved ones depart. The King's Company had started to move and they were heading downhill, and all the while she followed the white horsetail of Éomer's helmet... until at last he disappeared from her sight.

The young queen let out a sigh and only then did she become aware of the lump that had formed in her throat. Elfhelm seemed to sense her mood, as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I never understood", he spoke in low tones, sounding somehow confused and disbelieving, "I never knew it was so hard. Watching them go and staying behind. I didn't want to let her go."

Lothíriel had to smile at this epiphany, though it was entirely sympathetic. Still, she would not have guessed she would share such a companionship with Elfhelm.

She turned to look at him then and met a pair of incredulous eyes. Elfhelm spoke again, "And in misunderstanding I also ignored just how brave our womenfolk are!"

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><p>Sleep evaded her that night. It felt strange to be all alone in the royal chambers of Meduseld; she kept listening to the silence, which it was all the more domineering without the slow, even breathing of her king – the sound which had, in a way, become a lullaby. Yearning for his warmth she tried to curl up to forget the feeling of loneliness, but of course it did not help.<p>

"Damn it", she muttered eventually and threw aside the blankets and sheets. The moon and embers in the fireplace gave enough light for her to dress in a simple gown – she may be queen but she was not going to wander the Golden Hall in her night shift – and find her slippers.

Lothíriel knew Osythe kept some soothing tea in the kitchens, and as she dressed, she decided she'd go and make some for herself. Of course, she could have woken up one of the servants, but it was very late and she did not want to sit in the quiet room waiting for someone else to cater to her whims.

The guards bowed their heads as she exited the royal chambers. One of them would probably have followed her had she not dismissed him. After all, it was unlikely there was anything to warrant a guard trailing her in her own home. Though the Hall certainly looked different at night time than during the day, she was able to make her way to the kitchens without losing her way even once. Now there would have been quite the story: the Queen getting lost in Meduseld!

She did not expect to find anyone else in the kitchens at this time. However, upon entering she noticed a shape sitting by the hearth, singing to himself quietly. For a moment she had to just stand and wonder, as she had not known Elfhelm possessed such a fine singing voice. Then again, she _was _in the land of the Rohirrim, and while the lords of the realm might be literate, the people were famously singers and poets rather than scholars. The tune was a sorrowful one, though she could not quite make out the words except for the name of a long dead king.

When Elfhelm fell quiet, she approached him.

"That was beautiful. You were singing about Folcwine King?" she asked, making Elfhelm look up from the flames. He was sitting by the hearth and was cradling a mug of ale between his large hands.

"Aye. It is a lamentation he made when he heard two of his sons had fallen in battle. The stories say he never quite recovered from the loss... or regarded his remaining son Fengel worthy of the throne", he replied. She snatched herself a stool and sat by the hearth as well. She considered his words for a while before speaking.

"I know their names are recalled in songs, but... are any of the stories written down in books?" Lothíriel asked carefully.

"Not that I know of. Gondorian scribes may have recorded some of our past, but Eorlingas don't write books", Elfhelm answered and reached for more ale. He offered it to her as well, but she refused with soft thanks.

"Is that because you don't see the point of writing down the past, or because you don't have means to do it?" she wanted to know.

"Perhaps it is little bit of both. You see, we do have a written language, but very few use it, and we don't have the kind of scholarly tradition you do", he said and sipped ale from his once more full mug.

"I didn't know you had written language", she commented. The letters she and Éomer had exchanged during their betrothal had always been in Westron; she had still been learning Rohirric then and he had not mentioned his language had a written form. Even if she had known it, she would not have wanted to insult his eyes by mangling his native tongue in letters.

"It is actually quite old, which often surprises our allies in south. Eorl the Young himself was impressed by the uses of written words and he strove to create something similar for our people. Only, like many of his works, completing this fell to Brego King because of Eorl's untimely death. It was a laborious work and took years, but towards the end of Brego's life his trusted man Folca had come up with a way of writing. In theory, Marshals and lords of the realm were supposed to learn to write and read, but in truth few of them did. There were times when the knowledge of writing and reading was almost entirely forgotten in the realm. But then Thengel returned from Gondor, full of these southern ideas, and he saw great effort to make his lieutenants and lords learn. He demanded even the most thick-headed Eorling lord learnt to communicate with him in written word. In this day, most of the high nobility are more or less literate, though their skills vary. Even so, Eorlingas are and do remain a people of songs", Elfhelm explained. His voice was rich and animated and one might have thought he was telling about some great and heroic battle instead of the penmanship among Rohirrim. But then, if she had learnt something since she had first met people of this land, it was that Eorlingas were natural storytellers. As a result Lothíriel had listened to his words in deep fascination. She had forgotten completely about the reason of her sleeplessness and why she had even come to the kitchens at this hour.

"That is very interesting", she commented and regarded the Marshal. "Elfhelm... I do not mean to imply I do not appreciate the ways of this land, and perhaps it is very Gondorian of me to ask this, but... do you think a history of Rohan could be written? In Rohirric way and tongue?"

He shrugged as an answer.

"I don't see why not. Even Eorl thought written word has some use. You will have to ask Éomer about this, though I have no reason to believe he'd be opposed to it", Elfhelm answered.

The mention of her husband brought her thoughts back to the present moment. She could not hold back a small sigh. The man next to her heard it of course.

"He'll be home soon, lass", he said gently.

"I know. I just wish I could somehow make myself worry less about him... rationally I do know he is perfectly fine, and even if there were some dangers on the road, Ceolwen and the Riders are there with him", she said and looked down on her hands. Then after a moment's silence she glanced at him again, "She's a marvellous woman, your wife is."

Her words made Elfhelm smile and his blue eyes glittered.

"That she is. From day to day I remain bewildered that she actually wanted to marry me... I am quite proud of her, because how many men can say that not only their wives are great ladies in their own right, but also ride as the King's Captain?" he said and shook his head, vaguely disbelieving even now.

"I hope it doesn't inconvenience you two too much, that she has all these duties as a captain... I know you and her both would like to move on with your own life", Lothíriel said, her voice soft now.

"Of course we are impatient, but there are some things one has to do, no matter what you feel. That you and Éomer came home is the only reason I'm alive now, and neither myself or Ceolwen have forgotten what it means. Every time I look into her eyes I am grateful. Because of you we _have _a life. It is only right we help in any way you need", Elfhelm said plainly.

"And I am glad that you are."

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><p><strong>AN: **My muse is on a mad spree and does not show signs of slowing down. I truly hope he will let me sleep tonight.

I wanted to write something about the first time our horselord and his lady really need to part (I imagine it would not be quite so easy after all this time), but also build up the friendship between Lothíriel and Elfhelm. Also who doesn't like some Rohirric history? Though I must confess, I did make up the part about Rohirrim having a written language. Tolkien says they don't write books but sing many songs; however, I don't think it contradicts canon to suggest that there is a written language, but it's mostly used in communication between the King and his lieutenants and lords.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>I would imagine Lothíriel has been learning Rohirric ever since she agreed to marry Éomer. This was not touched in the main story, but I believe he sent someone to Dol Amroth to teach her the tongue. She probably has practiced it with Éowyn and then with Éomer when they were on the road. So, at this point, she is fluent in Rohirric.

Anyway, I'm glad you liked it! :)

**Thalia - **Yes, there definitely is a good reason why he doesn't have many friends. And yes, Edelric does ride with Éomer now. If you remember the first chapter of this story, there was a conversation between Ceolwen and Éomer that she and Éothain should mentor him to become the next Captain of the Royal Guard after she moves on to her life with Elfhelm.

I think the reason Lothíriel and Ceolwen are getting along so well is because they're both odd birds, if you get what I mean. :) Also I do think while Lothíriel kicking some drunkards around would be amusing, it would be also too much.

**Talia119 - **I didn't really have much more to say about that story thread, and I didn't mean to delve into it more, but I can say what happened with those drunk fellows. Lothíriel did not recite the full story to Éomer right away (having thought of it, she knew he'd be furious indeed), and by the time those two drunkards had sobered up they realised their mistake. So they came to apologise formally. Even though he didn't yet know the extent of their uncouth words, Éomer was displeased with them. But even then he recognised the two had understood they were wrong to disrespect their queen, and also were brave to show up to apologise. So he let it pass, though he made it very clear if this should occur again, he would not be so understanding.

Lothíriel did tell him the full tale after they had come home, but only when she had him tied up (whether that was figuratively or practically, you decide ;) ). I can say it was quite an interesting night in Meduseld.


	8. Chapter 8

Lothíriel came across the girl when she was on her way to the royal chambers. She had been talking with Ceolwen, who was missing Elfhelm – he had ridden to Aldburg to hold a court of justice for the common folk and would not be back before a week or two.

Leofrun was the girl's name and she served in the kitchens, and the young queen knew she was not older than sixteen summers. Her father had died in the Ring War and she had several younger siblings, whom she needed to help to provide for. Fortunately, she happened to be related to Osythe, and so with the aid of the chatelaine she had started working in the Golden Hall only last autumn.

Usually the girl was of a cheerful mood, but now as Lothíriel approached she was sniffling quietly – she was so upset she didn't even notice the arrival of the Queen.

"Leofrun? Is something wrong?" Lothíriel asked, but even though her tone was gentle and concerned, it nearly made the girl jump in the air.

"M-my lady!" she stuttered and curtsied clumsily.

"Be calm. What has upset you?" inquired the young queen. Her question made Leofrun blush in embarrassment and she looked away.

"I'm fine, my lady. I was just seeing to the King's request – he had asked for some tea, and I was... I didn't..." Leofrun mumbled.

"Was he very coarse? Did he snap at you?" Lothíriel asked, keeping steady her tone.

"Aye, my lady. I nearly spilled tea over him", the girl replied, looking like she thought she would be dismissed from service on the spot.

Gently the young queen wrapped arms about Leofrun's skinny shoulders and gave her a hug, which at least turned her fear into surprise; apparently even now there remained some ignorance as far as how well the mistress of the Hall represented Rohirric ideas about Gondorian nobility and their detachedness.

"Don't worry, Leofrun. It was just an accident, and he has been on a dark mood. You needn't be upset", she told the girl, and now she saw some relief on the young face. Lothíriel smiled and pulled back. "Now, dry your tears and return to the kitchens."

But then she saw Leofrun hesitating, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. She asked, "What is it? Is something else wrong?"

"My lady... aren't you ever scared of him?" asked the girl gingerly, looking like she wasn't sure if this was an entirely appropriate thing to ask. First it did surprise the young queen, but then she considered Éomer had in him the capability of being terrifying – before now it had been reserved only for battles and the enemies he faced. Just because she barely noticed it didn't mean a young girl who didn't know him like his wife did wouldn't be affected by it.

Lothíriel shrugged – perhaps, if she showed nonchalance, she could make sure Leofrun or any of the other younger folks would know they needn't be afraid.

"Why would I be?" she asked. She patted the girl's shoulder, "Go ahead, then. I need to go and tend to that irritable bear of mine."

Her words made Leofrun smile again. She curtsied once more and hurried along, and the young queen herself took a small breath before making for the royal chambers once more.

She found her husband before the fireplace, fighting with the lacings of his boots, and wearing an expression like he had just had a horrible day.

"Let me do that for you", she said and grabbed a footstool, and while Éomer was still staring at her, she sat by his feet and began to undo the lacings. She didn't look up at him when she asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I just spent the whole day arguing with some obstinate lords over lands they think they should have as a reward of their help in Kin-strife, and I have a raging headache. But you needn't worry. It's nothing that will kill me", he said and leant back his head. He had to be quite weary, seeing how he just let her work over his boots.

"You did scare the living daylight out of Leofrun, though", Lothíriel pointed out warily. He made a gruff sound at the back of his throat.

"Aye, I suppose I did. Was she very upset?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"She seemed to think she would be dismissed from the household", she replied and pulled off one boot. She continued to speak, "It will not make you feel better, taking it out on servants. Leofrun is a sweet girl and she deserves good treatment."

"I know", he muttered. "Rationally I do know that. There are just moments that I..."

He didn't seem to know how to continue, and he didn't really need to. Lothíriel knew him well enough.

"I will apologise to her when I see her again", he said quietly and let out a sigh. She hemmed softly in agreement and pulled off the second boot. She let it fall where it may and then she stood up, but only so that she could climb into her husband's lap. He wrapped arms about her and she could feel tension leaving his form at last.

"If only I knew how to do more", she said quietly into his hair, but unexpectedly he let out a small dry laugh.

"Beloved wife. Don't you realise you already do make it so much better? If you did know how to do more, you would not be a mortal woman, but perhaps a being akin to Béma's folk", Éomer said and held her a bit tighter. His words made her look at him sharply, and from his expression she knew just how honestly the statement was delivered.

She didn't really know what to say, so she just smiled slightly and leant down to kiss him, slow and lingering. When she pulled back she considered him and saw the shadows under his eyes, and so felt obliged to ask: "Do you want to go to bed? You look tired."

"No, not yet. I have barely even seen you today or spoken with you. Sleep can wait", he declined and settled back more comfortably. Shadowed thoughts left his features at last, and he spoke once more, "Please, tell me about your day."

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's an update for Sunday! Here I hope to have shown life is not untroubled always four our favourite horselord and his lady. He has kind of a short temper especially when he's tired, so sometimes even small things push his buttons so to speak. But luckily for him he has a wife who is not intimidated by short tempers and irritable Rohirrim.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Thanks, glad you liked it! :) It seemed to me they would indeed bond over the fact that they sometimes need to stay behind when their loved ones leave.

**Thalia - **Yes, it's difficult to her because they have not really got used to being apart. But both of them know they can't always go everywhere together.

**Talia119 - **I would imagine his trip in the last chapter had to do with inspecting some western villages of the realm. In those parts Feran had more followers and Éomer is concerned with making sure the realm will mend again. So it wasn't really any dangerous trip, but Lothíriel worries anyway (even though she knows she doesn't really need to).

It was fun to write that scene between them. Elfhelm definitely has jobs to do, but he misses his wife, and so he comes to Edoras as often as he can. The last chapter had such an instance, but here we see he has gone again.


	9. Chapter 9

Spring came that year with heavy rain and storms. Éomer and his riders were a muddy lot when they returned from this or that errand, but to him it seemed that at least his wife did not mind a wet man parading in the royal chambers.

The stablehands left to care for horses covered in mud and the servants cleaning up after pools of rain water and boot prints on the floors most like had their own ideas, though.

However, Éomer knew spring rains were not always a completely harmless phenomenon. These were known to cause mud slides and floods, especially in Dunharrow. So he had an additional concern in sending riders to evacuate the parts more vulnerable to the nature's disasters and making sure there would be provisions for people who had lost their homes.

Unfortunately his fears did not prove to be unwarranted: after almost two weeks of nearly continuous downpour, a call for help came from the lands of Dunharrow and even some parts of Westfold. Many families had lost their homes in landslides and they now possessed nothing but their lives. Some horses had been lost as well and Éomer knew those would be grieved more than any dwelling. Altogether it would have been a troublesome situation had Aragorn not sent goods to help with rebuilding. With his friend's aid, Éomer knew he could manage this.

"I think I should go and inspect the damage myself", he said on that evening to Lothíriel. She tensed noticeably at first, and even as she tried to relax he could see the slight frown on her features.

"Can't you ask Erkenbrand to see to it?" she asked him.

"I could, and I have no doubt in his ability to fix it. But I believe I should be the one to see to this matter", he said and reached a hand towards her. She took it and came to him, then slipped into his lap. Once she was there, he went on, "Many of the traitor's supporters came from the West-mark. It could be they even expect me to ignore their need. They need to see their king cares about them still."

Lothíriel thought of his words and nodded eventually.

"You are right, of course", she said and absent-mindedly wove a lock of his hair about her fingers. She leant down to kiss his brow, and then murmured against his skin, "I suppose I'm just being needy."

"Hmm. It's quite all right", he replied and held her a bit tighter. Sometimes, it still surprised him when she revealed this vulnerability. But it reassured him somehow as well: he could depend on her and it did not make him weak.

On the morrow he was glad to see rain had stopped. Wind was chasing clouds towards east, giving him hope perhaps the rains had finally passed.

Lothíriel saw him on his way, her face a mask of determination but her eyes revealing her discomfort. As he bid her farewell and promised to be home soon, Éomer wondered if there ever would come a time when leaving her would not be so hard. Yet even if it was hard, he knew he could do it – _had _to do it.

After one last embrace he turned and fixed his eyes on Silfren, waiting for him down the steps of the Golden Hall. The riders of his Guard were gathered as well, all ready for the road. Beside him strode Ceolwen, who had already proved to be as efficient a captain as Éothain had been. If they would be able to pour all that formidable spirit into their training of Edelric, the young rider would surely be a great one. He expected nothing less of Erkenbrand's son.

As he mounted Silfren, there was that brief moment of awe he still felt whenever he rode with the stallion. Perhaps it would never quite disappear... because every time they rode, Éomer knew he was worthy. After the events of past year he more than needed that knowledge.

On that same instance as Silfren began to move he threw one last glance to the Golden Hall – or namely on the figure of his queen. Clothed in blue and her hair catching in the wind, she was a sight that meant so many things, much of which he could not put in words.

But it was only a glance and he turned, gazing ahead. Duty was calling him on the road again.

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><p>The King's Company reached the town of Harrow in late afternoon. After the rains the road had been in less than perfect condition, but at least weather remained clear; hopefully, it would dry up now and sowing the fields would not go awry with too much rain. Even with the provisions Aragorn had sent Éomer did not think the Mark could take many additional bad years.<p>

His arrival was noted quickly: townsfolk stopped by the road to watch the King and his Riders and many came from their houses too. He deemed they remembered very clearly the last time he had been here... as he surely did. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he thought of another thing he would have to do once he had spoken to the Lord of Harrowdale and discovered how were things with the evacuees. He had yet to learn the extent of the damage by floods and mudslides, and if many people had been killed because of it. At least to his knowledge Heming and Eadgyd were safe, or so a Rider he had sent to inquire about them had reported.

The residence of Lord of Harrowdale was located near the centre of the town, not far from the place they would have executed Éothain and Elfhelm. Lord Dúnhere, nephew to Erkenbrand, had previously held the station and done it admirably, but he had fallen in the Ring War, and now his younger brother Déor acted as the chieftain of Harrowdale. He was a very young man, lad almost; as such, Éomer did not wonder why his men had ridden with Feran during the Kin-strife. The recent happenings had been chaotic enough even for an adult mind, and later events had further convinced the King that the young lord had not followed Feran because of truly supporting the traitor's cause.

At the King's arrival, Déor rushed outside, his flaxen hair a mess and a flush on his ruddy cheeks. The skin of his beardless cheeks was so fair a maiden might have envied it and his eyes were sky blue; altogether he had a face that would mean trouble for the lasses of the Mark when he matured a bit. Déor wasn't as tall or strong as Dúnhere had been, and he quite obviously was still getting used to his position, but Éomer remembered Gamling saying he did show some promise.

"My lord! Welcome to Harrow!" called the young man and made a clumsy little bow before his liege-lord.

"Thank you, Lord Déor. I trust your stablemen can help with our horses?" Éomer inquired in calm, steady tones. Erkebrand's nephew blushed as though he was ashamed he had not thought to offer it himself.

"Of course, Sire", he replied right away and turned to give orders to his stablemen. Those flooded the yard, but dismounting Éomer saw the one reaching for Silfren wearing a highly troubled look. Judging by the man's expression he was probably happy there were no ponds nearby.

"Don't be afraid. He won't harm those who treat him well", he said and patted the neck of his stallion. Silfren nickered softly as though to confirm his rider's words and let himself be lead to the stables, demure but majestic.

Ceolwen came to her king's side and he turned to look at Déor again. The young lord seemed kind of lost in the middle of this bustle, and Éomer felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. Most likely Déor had expected to become a lord so important as little as he had expected to become a king, and he at least had been a man grown at the time of Théoden's death.

His thoughts were interrupted, for an elderly man made way to Déor's side. He looked like he had been a big man in his youth, but age had shrunk him somehow, and he leant heavily on a cane. He was too old to have participated in the battles of the Great War of the Ring, but his bright eyes showed where his body had withered, his mind had not.

"Sire, this is Banstan, my adviser. He has been a great help here since old Gamling died", Déor introduced the old man.

"My lord. It is honour to finally meet you in person", Banstan said, his dark blue eyes regarding Éomer unblinkingly. His lined face bore nothing that might speak of his thoughts and the King of the Mark had to wonder what he was hiding behind.

"I am glad to meet you as well, Master Banstan", he said for his part, keeping his tone nondescript. He then turned his eyes back to Déor, "I had word of the floods and landslides. I would hear the details of these events."

"Of course, of course. Please, do come inside, my lord. We shall explain everything", Déor hurriedly answered.

Éomer and Ceolwen were led into the Hall. There, scattered about the feasting hall he saw what could only be families that had lost their homes. On bedrolls lay several injured men and an old woman. At the arrival of the King the refugees lifted up their faces, and silently they watched him. One little girl's face in particular stood out; she was clutching what could only be her newborn sibling. Her hazel eyes seemed enormous in contrast to her delicate features. She did not speak as she gazed at the tall man striding by her, but Éomer did not need any words to see the plead of help in her eyes.

_I am their king. Who will fix this if not I? _

Suddenly, a young woman leapt on her feet. She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen summers and her curly golden hair was so voluminous it almost looked unreal. For her age she already sported a curvy figure, though her gown did not do her justice. Very fair, very young – and very much homeless.

"Éomer King! Please help us!" she cried out as she reached for his arm, clutching it with her both hands. Ceolwen shifted anxiously but did not try to interfere – really, one might have thought Éothain's spirit had descended on her.

He gave the girl a gentle smile and reached to cover one of her hands with his own.

"Worry not, lass. I will do all I can. You will have your lives back", he promised her. She moaned out loud in what he thought as relief and threw her arms about his neck. The grip felt nearly tight enough to break a man's neck.

Éomer blinked in surprise and couldn't react at first, until Ceolwen spoke up, "Lass, I need to ask you to let go of the King."

As he was trying to unfasten her arms from around his neck, the girl suddenly pulled back and looked at the captain with wide eyes.

"You're a woman", she blurted in surprise. A wry smile touched Ceolwen's face.

"Aye, that I am. But as the King's Captain I must ask you to let him go. There is much to do, if we are to fix what has happened", she replied. Éomer could not tell if it was her words or the girl's sheer surprise which had her letting go.

"Do forgive my granddaughter, Sire. Hlísa has been very upset by the loss of her home", Banstan muttered and made a shooing gesture towards the girl.

"It is quite all right. I understand very well the meaning of one's abode", Éomer said graciously, glancing at Banstan and Déor by his side. He took notice of the frown on the young lord's face and recognised it as well. _Béma, the things I get involved in. _

He ushered away that thought and looked straight at the two men, "Shall we proceed, then?"

Déor shook himself and blushed once more. He lead the way again and the King and his Captain followed; Éomer just about had time to share a glance with Ceolwen. She controlled her face masterfully, but the glint of her eyes spoke in volumes.

The Hall had a tiny study to serve such needs as the Lord of Harrowdale might have. There were only two chairs, and Banstan claimed one of them as though he was the owner. While the old man and the King sat, Ceolwen stood by her liege-lord and Déor remained on his feet as well. A servant from the kitchens appeared with mugs of ale to wash away the taste of the road.

_He has a lot to learn. Would that Gamling were here, _Éomer thought to himself before he moved along to ask about the recent events in Harrowdale. Déor and his adviser proceeded into an explanation of the damage caused by the rains, and the King of the Mark received a rather well-detailed account of all the lost property. Unfortunately, six people had died, and many more had lost their homes. Most had come to Harrow for help, though apparently some had gone to Erkenbrand as well.

"We are housing some of them here as you noticed already, my lord, but there is only so much we can do, and many more are depending on the good will of the townsfolk. We can barely feed them as it is. I am afraid we do not have the resources to rebuild the lost homes. In this we look to the throne", Banstan finished the account. The young lord nodded emphatically and fingered his mug in a rather anxious fashion.

Éomer sat silent for a while before he answered. He considered all that he had heard and his decision was more or less made. It was obvious he could not abandon these folk now.

"And the throne will deliver", he said at last and set aside his mug, which he had half way emptied. "I shall require someone who knows the damaged farms. I would inspect them myself to determine if I will have to make purchases in Gondor. Goods will be sent here in Harrow, along with someone to supervise their division to those who need it."

"Now, Lord Déor, does my company have your hospitality until morrow? I know your household must be stretched thin for the moment, but I assure you will be fairly compensated for all your trouble", he spoke, and the young man nodded quickly.

"Of course, Sire! You are most welcome in my humble home", he said and stood up straighter. "Let me find my chatelaine – she will organise lodgings for you and your men..."

* * *

><p>"May I have a word with you, Éomer?" Ceolwen inquired, hovering at the doorway of the chamber given to the King of the Mark. He had come to rid himself of armour before he would enter the hall again, as he meant to speak more closely with those evacuees who were being housed here.<p>

"You may have two, my friend", he replied and put aside the vambrace he had just been unfastening.

His captain entered and closed the door behind herself. She glanced around as though she expected there might be others hiding in the chamber.

"I thought perhaps you should know that this old man Banstan supported Feran during Kin-strife", Ceolwen stated – it was like her to get straight to the point. Her words certainly roused his interest right away.

"How do you know this?" he wanted to know.

"I assume you haven't forgotten Éothain was kept as a prisoner here in Harrow before they meant to execute him?" Ceolwen asked back.

"Of course I haven't forgotten. What of it?" Éomer said and narrowed his eyes. The memory of what the traitor had meant to do to two of his best friends still angered him.

"He told me of it lengthily – as you know, we have been talking a lot since you appointed me your captain. He also mentioned many of the names of Feran's supporters. I understand Banstan was present when Éothain was brought to Harrow... in any case, I have memorised all the names he gave to me, as we agreed your captain should be aware of such things", Ceolwen explained.

He was frowning now, and so deeply was his mind on this matter that he barely paid attention to the buckles of his gear.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked.

"Because before I did not know Banstan to be very powerful. Apparently he does have some noble lineage, but not enough to warrant him a lord. At any rate I thought you have enough concerns as it is, and an old man did not seem like a threat on the safety of the throne... which is not your business, but mine", Ceolwen replied and smiled wryly, "if you get what I mean."

Éomer let out a non-committal sound and finally released his other arm of the vambrace.

"Déor is very young and inexperienced", he stated at last, moving his fingers to the buckles of his chest plate. "Do you think Banstan will have a bad influence on him? Should he be dismissed?"

"I would not advise it, my lord. Feran is gone and even if this old man fancied him, he can not do much about it now. Dismissing him would show distrust not only to him but to all who made the mistake of following the underking. I do not think it would help with mending the realm and uniting the people again", Ceolwen answered at length. "He has done good job in helping Déor to care for the evacuees."

"Aye. That is right", Éomer had to agree. His captain did have a good point. He let out a sigh and laid down the plates, quite similar to the old ones he had lost. These bore similar devices but the colour was not the same. Now he was arrayed in green so dark it almost seemed black.

The King of the Mark looked tiredly at his captain, "I wish Gamling was still here."

"He would keep an eye on things – and especially on this Banstan", she agreed.

"Hmm. Even so, Déor _is _Erkenbrand's nephew and cousin to Edelric", Éomer stated thoughtfully. He looked at her again, "Do you think it would be a good time to include the political aspects in his training?"

Ceolwen picked up his meaning right away.

"You mean to have him to take care of Déor?" she asked.

"It is not a bad idea, is it? I think a kinsman's words would be more influential in his case – whereas my own interest in him would raise more than just few eyebrows. As my captain Edelric will have to consider such things anyway", he answered and sat down to work over his greaves. Quickly he looked up at her, "Like you said, Feran is gone. I do not think we have more to fear from those who supported him. Still, it is a matter I would like to bury for good, and be reassured it does not emerge again. I would not have young Déor getting caught in things he is not yet ready to deal with."

"Aye, my lord. I will speak with Edelric of this", Ceolwen promised solemnly. Then suddenly she smiled, "But to be honest, I have a feeling he is more like to begrudge you for a rustle of skirts than because of an old man's mutterings."

"You noticed that too? What nonsense. She's not much more than a child", Éomer snorted and sat back.

"_They _certainly did not seem to think like that, my friend. You might want to set a a guard and lock your door tonight, lest you find yourself a bedfellow", she chuckled.

"What does that lass even see in me? Surely she should be more inclined to chase a young and fair lord than some grim and greying man", he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. Ceolwen laughed again.

"I don't think you see yourself very clearly. You really haven't changed _that _much, and half the lasses of the Mark have been in love with you since you came of age", she said, grinning as she spoke. The damned woman was enjoying this much more than she should. "Not to mention you _are _a king and a famous warrior. She has just lost her home, and then you arrive on your great silver horse and promise to make it all right... what else did you expect?"

He could only snort again.

"Béma be kind, I thought marriage would save me at last. Will I ever have peace?" Éomer said with just a hint of drama and leant back his head like a tired old man.

"If you ask me, you need to introduce them both to Lothíriel. That should take care of things", Ceolwen offered helpfully. "I don't know if you have noticed but your lady wife can be a fairly intimidating woman when she wants."

He had to smile at the mention of his Lioness. Anyone who doubted his love and devotion to her, especially when faced with her, was blind.

Éomer shook his head then – he could not get distracted by daydreams of his wife right now. Moreover, there was one more thing he had to speak of with Ceolwen... potentially it was the most unpleasant of topics today.

"I have a favour to ask, my friend", he said then. She seemed to sense the nature of this favour, and the smile fell from the captain's face and she looked at him intently.

"What is it?" she inquired.

"Send someone to ask about where Gamling is buried. I would pay him my respects... I did not get a chance to tell him goodbye properly", Éomer said and the words came out even more painfully than he had thought. He could hear the fall of his voice too – try as he might, he could not hide the grief.

"Of course. I will see to it right away", she promised gently. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she strode next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "His death was not your fault, Éomer."

"That is kind of you to say, but I'm afraid I cannot agree", he said quietly and looked away. "I could have prevented it, Ceolwen. If I had taken Feran captive right on the moment I came back..."

"You were trying to come back as a just king. Feran had people imprisoned for ludicrous reasons – I ought to know, better than most – so how would it have looked like if you went down to his level right on the moment we got you back?" she stated firmly. "Gamling loved and respected you, my king. This much even I know, though I was not familiar with him. But Elfhelm knew him well, and my husband says Gamling would not have regretted what he did for you. He would only be glad to know that his sacrifice bought the freedom and safety of our king."

* * *

><p>Éomer had feared Feran had not granted a proper resting place for Gamling. But perhaps the traitor had possessed some instance of decency, for inquiries revealed Gamling had been buried next to his late wife.<p>

The visit to that tomb Éomer made alone, as it was not something he wished company for. The way there felt just as long as it had been when he had gone to visit Théoden's barrow after the ending of Kin-strife.

He found the right tomb easily enough. The sight brought him a choking feeling instantly, and he remembered his last conversation with Gamling. His friend's words came back to him, almost like an echo from the past: _"I have seen my King alive and returned. That is more than enough for an old man like myself... Please, Éomer. You have to live."_

In grief he lowered his head and the words came out, his voice carrying them weakly: "I know you are far beyond hearing me, but I am so sorry, Gamling. I'm sorry I could not save you..."

Gamling should have lived to see the peaceful days dawn at last in the Mark. The world was a different place without him; in the first bewildering months of Éomer's kingship the old man had been an irreplaceable help. He tried to imagine how it all could have gone had he not...

The memories of the south remained too vivid, and whatever might have been was lost behind the heat and dust and blood and _that_ _stink_. That was another story he had never been able to tell Gamling. He had to fight the sudden feeling of being short of breath, and fortunately it faded quickly enough.

"I will make sure you did not die for nothing, Gamling. I will live, like you asked me to – and I will make the best of it", he spoke out loud, as though the wind might take his words to the friend he had lost.

He reached for the flask he had taken with him and took a mighty gulp of it. The strong Rohirric liquor felt like fire as it rolled down his throat. On Gamling's tomb he poured carefully the same amount; in a strange way, it helped to think his friend was sharing the drink as he sat among his forefathers.

The liquor was still burning in his stomach when Éomer turned at last and made way to return to Déor's Hall. Yet even as he walked he knew already that tonight, he would remember the south.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Here's a somewhat longer update for Thursday! I guess this little story thread had me especially inspired and things got out of hand, like they sometimes do with me. I wanted to write about Éomer doing some kinging and also build his relationship with Ceolwen a bit. Also, I thought it would be good to show him paying his respects to Gamling.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo -<strong> Thank you! It seemed to me Éomer would sometimes lose his patience, but he knows it's not right. Most of the time he has it under control, but there are moments his temper emerges and people who have not witnessed him working through his issues (meaning, people who are not Lothíriel) don't really understand it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Late April 1, Edoras_

_Dear Éowyn,_

_It has been three months since you, Faramir and Father departed from Rohan. I miss you dearly, but so is one's wont when the family is so scattered in different parts of our world. I hope you and Faramir are well, but also have had some time just to yourselves. I know Faramir doesn't mind, but it still sometimes troubles me to think I caused him pain by dragging you along with me._

_Now I can just picture you rolling your eyes at me, telling I am being foolish. You are probably right. _

_Things are well here in the Mark – as well they can be, I suppose. For a while weathers were quite poor and Éomer was worried the rains would prevent spring sowing, but now it has been nothing but sunshine and fair weathers. Foaling season was a success and there is a reason to be very hopeful: if things go this well next year, we will soon be completely recovered from the loss of horses in the Ring War. Altogether this spring has come with a great promise and Éothain says people far and wide are talking about Éomer the Blessed, who has brought hope and prosperity with him. _

_We are terribly busy, but you must have guessed that. Your brother seems to have decided he will single-handedly fix every little problem in the realm. I'm just as glad as anyone that he has such motivation for rebuilding the Mark, and things are improving, but often it causes him to be on such a foul mood... I do not need to tell you about Éomer and his temper, as you must have witnessed it in person for many times. _

_I wonder when it will get better and sometimes I pray for the day when it does. I have to admit, I long for the time we spent in wandering. Everything was so easy then... even though in my heart I know it could never have lasted for longer than it did. _

_You should be pleased to hear myself and Osythe are getting along finely. She is truly a lovely woman, and I can see why you so praised her. It seems to me there is nothing she doesn't know about Meduseld, or running a royal household, and she is an endless source of anecdotes about your and Éomer's younger years. Don't worry – those are entirely good-wishing anecdotes (though if you must insist on revenge, I'm sure Faramir can share a few embarrassing stories). Osythe seems to miss you very much, as she often mentions you, and when she heard I would be writing to you, she demanded I send you her love. Well, at least she still has Éomer to dote on. Sometimes she treats him as though he were her own son! It is quite endearing, I must say. She's a dear woman and I'm afraid there have been times when I would have been lost without her. Though Ceolwen and Scýne have proved to be good friends, along with that mad fellow Elfhelm, they don't have the kind of view on life Osythe does. I suppose I feel like this because I can barely remember my mother, and even now there are still instances when I miss someone like her in my life. _

_Please forgive me my whining. I did not mean to write to depress you or moan and mope, but my pen seems to have a mind of its own. _

_This late April, it must already be very beautiful in Ithilien. I can imagine you and Faramir wandering in the woods, enjoying the spring and the peace. You must tell me about how things are going there and how your own mission of mending that fair land is proceeding. I wish we could come to visit you, but as you must already have guessed, we are not quite capable of making long journeys right now. _

_Give my love to Faramir. I wish you both all the best. Write me soon – I long to hear news of you both._

_With love,_

_Lothíriel_

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><p><em>Early May 1, Edoras<em>

Evening was growing late when Lothíriel entered the kitchens of the Golden Hall. It was quiet there now – the servants had already finished cleaning up after supper – but quick glance about confirmed it was not entirely empty.

Osythe was still about and a small fire in the hearth illuminated her figure. She had said she'd stay late tonight, for her husband was on some business in Aldburg, and she did not fancy going to their empty home alone. The light gave a shine to her red gold hair and caught in the folds of her gown, contrasting the shadows. The young queen was about to speak up when the woman looked up and smiled.

"What is it? Do you or the King need something from the kitchens?" Osythe asked.

"I was just..." Lothíriel started, but didn't know how to continue, and the chatelaine must have seen the look on her face and heard the tremble in her voice.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" asked the older woman worriedly. She put aside the knife she had been handling and took some steps closer to the young queen.

"We argued. He wouldn't listen to me... he was so cranky and cantankerous, and I – I think I just made it worse. I didn't know where else I should go", Lothíriel mumbled. She felt like crying but somehow managed to hold back the tears.

Osythe considered her for one moment more, quiet and thoughtful. Then she moved again.

"Sit down, dear. I will make us some tea", she said firmly then, and obediently Lothíriel took seat on a stool near the hearth. There she sat watching as the chatelaine worked. Soon the water was boiling over the fire, and from somewhere Osythe found some scones. Generously she spread jam made of wild berries on the scones, placed them on a plate, and turned to finish the tea.

When they both were sitting and had cups of tea along with scones, Osythe looked at her starkly.

"Do you love him?" she asked forwardly. It did not come as a surprise, as Lothíriel had already learnt something about the straightforwardness of her new people.

"I do. More than anything", she replied and looked down into her cup. "I just... sometimes I wonder if it's enough."

"You mustn't think like that", Osythe said, her voice sharp. "No one's – not even his – salvation depends on you. Trying to make yourself into his sole rope is not good for either of you."

The younger woman bit her lip and tried to think of something to say. However, her mind was blank, except for tiny but growing doubt perhaps her approach would bring more harm than help if she did not change it.

Osythe let out a small sigh then and took a sip of her tea.

"I know he can be difficult sometimes, but that is not just a recent thing. Even as a young lad he could be troublesome to deal with... so are those with strong personalities. I suppose it has to do with all that grief and loss Éomer had to deal with when he was still just a boy. It changed him, and not always for the better. Be it as may, he never was and still is not anything but a good man. Stubborn, of course, but good", she said slowly. She looked straight at Lothíriel then, "And I know he loves you. Perhaps it is not always easy with him, but I've never seen him love anyone as he loves you."

"I never doubted that", said the young queen softly.

"I wish I could do more to help you", Osythe spoke, her voice gentle and somehow sad. "I know you carry many burdens not only as a wife but also as a queen."

At that, Lothíriel had to smile. She met the older woman's bright eyes.

"And you are tremendous help in carrying those burdens. I don't think I would be much of a queen if you were not here", she said warmly. Her words made Osythe smile as well, and the chatelaine reached to pat her forearm.

"Do you wish me to talk with him?" she asked.

"Perhaps not", Lothírel decided and shook her head. "I don't want to give an impression I go crying to you every time there are some difficulties."

Her brow furrowed then, "I think maybe I should go and apologise. I was being stubborn too."

"Aye, that could be for the better. My own mother used to tell me never to let the day end with an argument", Osythe said, her voice kind and gentle.

Her spirits considerably lifted, Lothíriel put aside her tea and half-eaten scone. She reached to hug the chatelaine.

"Thank you for making feel better, Osythe", she said, her words entirely heartfelt.

The older woman smiled.

"You're very welcome, my dear."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **And here's an update! Things don't go always so smoothly, and even the strong one sometimes needs the support of friends, but I would imagine Osythe's tea and sympathy -routine is very effective. It's certainly much gentler than scoldings Éomer would receive from Ceolwen when and if she heard about the argument!

* * *

><p><strong>Jo - <strong>I'm glad you liked it! The last chapter was pretty entertaining to write as well. I have to say, I'm really enjoying writing these little scenes and showing the every day life of our horselord and his lady. I guess it's because in my previous stories haven't really written that much about things like these.

**Thalia - **I think it's bit of both. There certainly are positions that go to those who are most qualified (from the King's point of view): whoever acts as a Marshal or the King's Captain does have to show the capability of doing the job. But there are also some hereditary titles. For example, the seat of Aldburg has gone from father to son in Éomer's line. The seat of Harrowdale is the same. Déor is the last of his line, so even though he is very young, he has no choice about it really.

**Wondereye - **Glad to hear you think so! They are also wonderful to write about. :)


	11. Chapter 11

_June 1, Edoras_

On a fair day of June around midday Elfhelm burst into the royal study, more or less puffing with energy. His countenance was wind-blown and cheerful. The Marshal had returned from a lengthy ride to the eastern parts the day before yesterday, bringing mostly very hopeful tidings. It truly looked like the realm was on the mend.

The King of the Mark was in the middle of reading some reports from Harrow – Déor had sent him updates on how things were going with those folk who had lost their homes because of the landslides and floods. Rebuilding their homes was apparently going fairly well, what with the goods he had been able to provide.

"Oi there! Are you in the need of someone digging you up from that pile of parchments?" asked his Marshal jovially.

"Not before supper, my friend. What is it?" Éomer asked back and looked up from the report he had been reading. It took time to decipher, because Déor's command of writing was not the best one could hope for. Then again, though Thengel had gone to great lengths to establish literacy and penmanship at least among the most important lords of the realm, on this day one would still find not all of them had been schooled as well as the late king had hoped. Not that Éomer did not understand: he knew the every day life of an Eorling lord was often too busy to provide time to practise writing, and tools for that were expensive too.

"Bah, supper is far too late. You're coming with me now, laddie", Elfhelm informed him as the man came to a halt next to the desk. The Marshal snatched the report from his hands before he had time to react.

"Please give that back. I have work to do", Éomer said, now just with a hint of annoyance.

"Work can wait. We are going riding and you will comply, or so help me Béma, I will put you in ropes and throw you on the back of my horse", Elfhelm said, resting hands on his hips and tapping one foot against the floor. The King of the Mark lifted one eyebrow.

"Technically I could have you arrested you for making such statements", he told his friend. Elfhelm smiled charmingly.

"Technically I don't care. But Ceolwen very much does, and you know what happens when people try to imprison her husband. Now get you up – there is something I need to talk with you", he said and gave a light kick to Éomer's chair.

The King sighed. His Marshal was obviously on one of those moods and he deemed it was far easier to just give in – otherwise, he would not have any peace for the rest of the day.

Less than half an hour later, they were exiting Edoras. Silfren seemed pleased at the sudden whim of his rider and Éomer had to hold him back so that Elfhelm and the guards accompanying them could keep along. It was a beautiful day and the Mark was blooming in high summer. Sky seemed very blue and vast today and it was warm enough he had not bothered to put a coat over his linen shirt.

"So, what did you want to talk about with me?" asked the King of the Mark once the capital was behind and the guards had fallen back to give some privacy to the two men. He glanced at his friend, "And why could we not speak of it in my study?"

Elfhelm met his eyes and winked.

"That is because I am on a mission from the Queen", he said indulgently. "She told me to snare you out of that dusty closet."

The younger of the two lifted his eyebrows.

"Why did she tell you to do that? Lothíriel is fairly capable at snaring me herself", he pointed out.

"Of course she is. I know very well who is the true ruler in Meduseld, but let's not go into that", Elfhelm replied good-humouredly. "I am the errand boy because she needed to go and set the scene."

"Would you cease talking in riddles?" Éomer asked, giving his friend one of the less formidable frowns. Of course, it didn't affect the Marshal.

"It is such a fair weather today and she wanted to have a picnic with her most lordly husband", Elfhelm said and gazed ahead, "Which idea one can fully support, don't you think? Marvellous things, wives are."

"You interrupted me because of a picnic?" Éomer asked, which instantly earned him a stern flash of blue eyes. Even before Elfhelm spoke out – which was quite fast – he realised what he had just implied.

"I interrupted you because your wife wants to spend time with you. And it is starting to look like a good thing that I did, because your brain is apparently in the process of dissolving", said the older man sharply. Though it was easy to forget with his easygoing manners, underneath lay some truly fierce currents.

Éomer was quiet, trying to process his own reaction and Elfhelm's words. The Marshal spoke again, his voice softer now, "It would also be a good chance to convince her you still love her."

"She knows I do", he said starkly, though at this point he was starting to feel troubled and confused.

"Does she? Ceolwen and Scýne have told me the Queen has been downcast lately. They think you are being neglectful of your wife", said his friend. There was no accusation in his voice – just the statement of what the ladies had said to him.

"Why didn't she say anything to me, then?" the King of the Mark demanded to know, worried that he had not realised this. His friend sighed and looked at him, and all traces of good humour were completely gone by now.

"She thinks she needs to support you in all things, and ask only very little for herself. She believes she can't be sad around you, because it would distract you from all your duties as king. And because she's just as stubborn as you are, no one can make her see how foolish she is being", said Elfhelm, shaking his head.

The younger man could not really say anything. He was too much in a stun to really speak, and even wrapping his mind about his friend's words was difficult as it was unpleasant. But still he could not deny anything Elfhelm had said. It was true: Lothíriel had been more quiet lately, she had been smiling less, and at this point he should have known her well enough to understand its meaning. Only, he had been too distracted.

While he was still in the middle of these thoughts, his Marshal spoke up again.

"Éomer", Elfhelm said steadily but gently, "I know you are deeply invested in healing the hurts in this land, but even you need to let go every once in a while. The realm will not fall into ruin if you do so for a day. In fact, you might find it will do you good."

Éomer did not get a chance to answer, because then the older man straightened up in his saddle and gazed ahead, "Ah, we seem to have reached our destination."

They had kept up good pace, and so were some leagues from Edoras now. Before them there was a sheltered little glen – a very nice place and full of flowers in spring – and a horse he recognised as Lothíriel's was grazing nearby.

The Marshal reached to pat his king's arm.

"Go ahead, old fellow. Be with your wife, forget about your concerns for a while. And try and make her smile. Otherwise, Ceolwen and Scýne will have your hide", Elfhelm more or less ordered. Then he turned his horse and smiled again, "Guards will remain close, but they will know to give you some privacy. I will see you later!"

Without a further word, the Marshal sped away, leaving behind a fairly baffled king. When his friend was gone, Éomer shook his head and urged Silfren to move forwards and closer to the glen.

There he found his wife, lying on the green grass of the gently descending hillside.. Her face was turned towards sunlight and she rested with her eyes closed, her face smoothed into a peaceful expression. For a moment, all Éomer could do was just regard her. Even as he stood there, he suddenly felt he hadn't really _looked _at her in a while... he had been so absorbed in all the work that he had started to take her for granted.

Elfhelm and the ladies were right. He _was _being a neglectful husband, especially as of late. And Lothíriel deserved so much more.

Éomer dismounted then and patted Silfren's neck. The stallion nickered softly; he would not wander far, and while he grazed, his rider knew he would keep his own watch.

His wife did not open her eyes as he approached her, though she must have heard his arrival. Only when he had passed the distance between them did she crack open one eye, and an impish little smile visited her face. There was the woman he knew and loved – the one who had taught him to laugh time and again. And yet Elfhelm had said she had been downcast as of late... the extents she went to make him happy! Really, he didn't know what he wanted more: to shake her for being so foolish, or kiss her senseless.

"There you are at last. I was starting to wonder if Elfhelm had kidnapped you instead of bringing you here", she said and stretched, reminding him of a cat waking up just after a long and pleasant nap. He settled down beside her on the blanket and kicked off his boots, if just to have something to do. It was bizarre to feel like this in her presence.

"Well, one could say he did kidnap me to bring me here. He threatened to unleash Ceolwen on me among the other things, unless I complied", he said, which made her splutter in laughter. She was laughing, so maybe he wasn't a completely wretched excuse of a husband?

"I see now why you made him a Marshal", Lothíriel said, unaware of his thoughts, and sat up. She reached for a bundle by her side and opened it to reveal an assortment of foodstuffs varying from fresh scones to three different cheeses – she even produced some Gondorian wine. He hadn't known the pantries and storages of Meduseld had such.

When she handed him a goblet of sweet white wine, Éomer had to comment, "Dear heart, you know you could just have asked me to join you for a picnic instead of sending Elfhelm after me?"

She hesitated for a moment and did not meet his eyes. Then, even as he desperately tried to catch her gaze, she looked at him.

"Yes, I could have done so. But I was afraid you would tell me you were too busy", she said her voice quiet and unsure.

He had no idea of what to say to that. _Foolish, foolish woman... _what in the name of Béma had made her think she couldn't talk to him? Then again, he'd have been utterly wrong to claim he held no blame. After all, his first reaction _had _been to tell Elfhelm he was too busy.

_If she thinks she can't speak to me, then who else can be blamed than myself?_

"You know that I love you, don't you?" he asked softly, battling this sudden fear that perhaps she didn't... hadn't realised how truly invaluable and irreplaceable her very presence was.

His wife turned her head to look at him. Her expression was solemn and slightly sad somehow, and it tore at his heart. _Am I making her unhappy...? _

"I know that, dear one. I may doubt everything else but not you", she said.

Without a word, he put down the goblet in his hand. Similarly, though with gentle fingers, he removed hers. Then he moved closer to her and pulled her close to himself. He felt her relaxing there and he let out a small sigh. _Even now she lets me close. _

When he spoke, it was against the softness of her hair.

"You are the clarity when all else ceases to make sense", he said at length. "You must remember that every day. I don't mean to be distant, but..."

"Beloved, I know. And I am not angry with you for anything. I just... I miss spending time with you, the way we used to before", she said, her voice so quiet he nearly didn't hear her.

"I am sorry for neglecting you lately. I will try to mend my ways", he promised and lifted up her chin so that he could meet her eyes, "Lothíriel, if I am being a thick-headed fool, or if there is something on your mind, you are more than welcome to say so. Or if it's easier to ask Elfhelm or Ceolwen to kick some sense into me... well, whatever suits you best."

"Yes. I know that – usually, I do. I'm not sure why I have apparently forgotten it lately", she said softly, frowning to herself. She shook her head and smiled once more, "Now, I did not have Elfhelm drag you here just so that we could waste time by being morose. Where did that wine go again?"

After those heartfelt confessions, a more relaxed mood settled on them both. He lay on his back, balancing his goblet on his chest and leaning his head against his forearm as he watched Lothíriel. They spoke everything and nothing and he got lost in how sunlight danced on her hair and skin. The weather was fair, the world was beautiful, and wine was sweet as the lips of his wife. He realised: what else did one need to feel glad to be alive?

In the end, Éomer had to agree his Queen and Marshal had a very good point: letting go occasionally did prove to have benefits.

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's a bit of summer into the middle of winter! I hope you all will have a pleasant weekend. :)

I was reading some Rohirrim-related stuff by Tolkien, and I noticed one thing I didn't remember to address to properly when posting _ALTE. _That is of course Elfhelm's age. Though the year of his birth is not given (to my knowledge), it is implied he's closer in age to Théodred rather than Éomer. So, he would be in his late thirties or fourties. However, Elfhelm of _ALTE _and related works is in his thirties, a few years older than Éomer but still fairly close to him. I can't recall anymore if I genuinely forgot his canon age or if my express intention was to write him younger. It could be the latter, because I remember thinking I wanted Éomer to have at least one lieutenant who was about his own age, whereas Gamling and Erkenbrand are clearly older at least by a decade. Also, writing Elfhelm younger than he is in canon also allowed the sub-plot with him and Ceolwen.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>brandibuckeye - <strong>I'm very glad to have you joined the ride! :) Hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**Jo - **Very much so! I suppose the purpose of this and the last chapter has been to show everyone has troubles sometimes and we misinterpret things. But it is all right as long as one remembers to apologise and make up.


	12. Chapter 12

_Early August 1, Edoras_

There were times when Lothíriel wondered who really was the Queen of the Golden Hall.

An example of such times was when Osythe would give a sharp look and tell her she should perhaps go for a ride.

"It is lovely weather outside and you look like sunlight would do you good. I have everything under control here", said the chatelaine in firm tones. When Lothíriel tried to protest and say she should be home preparing everything for her husband's expected return this same day, the older woman just waved her hand.

"He is not due back before evening, and I am perfectly capable of ordering his bath drawn and organising the supper for his welcome", Osythe replied, seemingly unmoving to her reasoning. Then something like a smile seemed to touch her face, "I should think it would please him to see the sunkissed face of his wife."

While Lothíriel had to admit she didn't know exactly what Osythe meant, it did sound convincing. Then Éothain turned out to be in league with the chatelaine, because he reassured her there were no urgent matters to demand her attention, and according to him he was well capable of preparing appeals for the King's attention when he returned. In the end she let herself be persuaded – or ordered – to go for a ride. Scýne joined readily as her mother was visiting Edoras. Aedre was more than happy to spend time with her grandchildren, both of whom were growing so fast these days. Elva was still following Elfhelm around whenever he was in the capital, and she had also announced she would become a Shieldmaiden just like Ceolwen.

"Béma, if that girl was twenty years older, Elfhelm would be in big trouble... and I would have some serious competition", Ceolwen had chortled as she and Lothíriel watched Éothain's daughter practice her braiding skills on Elfhelm's hair. The young queen had nearly choked on her tea.

A few guards came along too. The Queen, no matter how capable of looking after herself she was, could not just leave the capital all alone. Among them was Alger who seemed equally happy for the chance of a vigorous ride. Most of the Royal Guard was with Éomer and guarding duties back in Edoras were mostly nominal, though the King himself – ever the fuss – would probably have claimed otherwise.

So, about half an hour later Osythe had given her suggestion/command, the Queen and her small company were already speeding over the plains. They roughly followed the river Snowbourn which flowed north of Edoras. Playful riding contests took place of course, even if at this point Lothíriel knew it was in vain to try and win someone who had learnt to ride before they had started to walk. In this, Scýne was no different than any other Eorling.

Still, it was fun as ever, and the young queen did forget about the every day concerns for a while as they sped over the green plains. She did not think of harvest or rebuilding of homes or the blissful letters from new parents Aragorn and Arwen.

After about an hour they agreed to turn back, as Lothíriel wanted to be ready for Éomer's arrival. He had been visiting and inspecting villages in the West-mark for over a week and she did quite miss him. But before racing homewards they stopped by the river to water the horses.

This gave Lothíriel a chance to explore their surroundings a bit: she was always eager to get a closer look on whatever things she happened to see. The busy days in Edoras did not often provide her with a chance to see the different parts of the realm. While she explored, Scýne stayed by the riverside to bathe her feet in the cool waters of Snowbourn.

In a moment's spur, she decided to climb a small hill to get a better view on the lands about them – perhaps she might even see the capital from afar. Edoras could be spotted even from leagues away, especially on a sunny day when light would hit the gilded roof of Meduseld and give it a brilliant blaze.

The young queen came to a halt on the top of the hill and gazed about the plains. Some way to east she thought she saw a village but couldn't remember its name from the top of her head – she made a mental note of having to ask Éothain help her memorising the names of Rohirric villages. She saw a small herd of sheep grazing near the river, which glittered in sunlight as it ran eastwards to join Entwash. Bright midday was upon them and the world was fair in the late summer. A breath of wind came and blew through her hair, like gentle fingers combing through her tresses. She did not shiver but rather turned her face against the wind, the sun. There was a sense of rightness to this moment, and to being _here. _Yet it did not escape her memory where she had been only a year ago now: she remembered the journey from the south, the long days on Erchirion's ship, and then at last reaching Pelargir... it was strange, for at the same time it felt like no time at all had passed, and yet so much had happened since then.

Almost a year ago she had chosen to follow Éomer to a road unknown. Now she was in the Mark and she was queen.

Her reminiscing was interrupted then, for Alger shouted from the foot of the hill: "My lady! The horses have been watered."

"I'm coming!" she replied and began climbing down the hillside, her mind already turning towards the return of her husband; hopefully they would have some time to each other tonight, as he had been gone for so many days.

But then suddenly all thoughts of Éomer left her mind, because her foot seeking for the ground's support did not find any, and her foot left slipped; with a cry she fell as she felt her ankle twisting between stones.

"My lady!" Alger shouted again and came running. "Are you all right?"

Tears flooded her eyes as lances of pain went through her ankle. She didn't realise at first it was stuck somehow, not before a slight tug at her leg only made the pain worse.

"I – I think I sprained my ankle", she managed from between grit teeth. The young rider came down on one knee to inspect her leg carefully.

"Your ankle seems to be wedged between two stones, my lady", he told her; now Scýne was climbing the hillside as well, along with two other riders.

"Damn it", Lothíriel grumbled and wished away the tears of pain which were still burning her eyes. "Can you dislodge me?"

"Just a minute", said Alger and tore off some grass to see better the pit and the stones imprisoning her ankle. Scýne arrived then, looking worried.

"Are you all right?" she wanted to know, kneeling by the young queen's side.

"It's nothing serious. Just a sprained ankle, I think", Lothíriel said and grimaced as Alger worked to free her leg. "I should have been minding where I walk."

"It's no wonder you saw nothing in this grass. Don't worry, we'll get you to a healer in no time", Scýne promised.

"This may hurt a bit", Alger said as a warning and pulled her leg, finally dislodging it from between the stones. Lothíriel tried to hold back a groan but did not quite succeed. Before anyone had time to ask if she was all right for the third time, she tried to push herself up.

"Let's get going. I would like to see the healer before my husband arrives", she said and nearly fell once more, but Scýne and Alger caught her by arms before she went sprawling again.

Scýne told her she wasn't going to walk or ride by herself, and two riders more or less carried her down to where the horses were waiting. Before she had a chance to protest they already had her atop Alger's steed and the young man mounted to sit on the front of her. She took support from his waist, which felt awkward, but the last thing she wanted was to fall off a horse. The last time she had ridden with someone had been when she and Éomer had entered Edoras after the Kin-strife, and before it... well, she couldn't remember that far back.

For obvious reasons rest of the ride did not provide much enjoyment, and Lothíriel was mostly concerned with the throbbing pain in her ankle and the frustration it was already causing her. This would be a major inconvenience for weeks to come.

In the courtyard of the Golden Hall she did not have time to protest before Alger had leapt down from the saddle and was already lifting her as well. She let it pass, though – she knew she would not have been able to get down by herself without hurting her injured leg.

Still, the young rider looked like he just might scoop her up and carry her in himself. Scýne was fortunately more tactful than that and hurried along to fetch one of the doorwards to aid the Queen. One of them hurried down the steps, and between him and Alger Lothíriel was so well supported she did not really have to walk, but just let them carry her weight across the yard and up the steps of Meduseld.

About the time they got her to the royal chambers Scýne had already called a healer, and Osythe was there as well, fussing about like a mother hen. Apparently the common understanding was if the Queen was harmed in any way, a great many people would be in serious trouble with the King – even if she tried to tell them this was nothing more than a sprained ankle. Such was the healer's diagnosis as well and he went to fetch supplies soon as he had Lothíriel's now swollen ankle propped up on a pillow resting on a stool, along with some ice wrapped about it – trust Osythe to have some ice stored around the year. The chatelaine hurried off to fetch some tea and Scýne accompanied her; the young queen had a feeling it was more about tea's soothing qualities than anything else. Alger was the only one who stayed behind, and at first Lothíriel did not deem anything odd about it.

"My lady", he spoke, "does it hurt much?"

"I will live", she grumbled, leaning back her head and feeling foolish that this had even happened. She went over again the obvious observation she should have been more careful... though of course that was by now irrelevant.

"I'm sorry you hurt yourself, my lady", Alger said and took a step closer.

"It's fine. Really, don't worry about it", she said and waved her hand to dismiss the matter, but all of a sudden he caught her hand and fell on his knee next to her. The look in the young man's eyes was bright and somehow feverish.

"I would not be able to bear it, my lady, if anything ever happened to you", he said, clasping tight her fingers, "You are the sun that shines in this Hall."

She could not speak at first for her surprise. She blinked at the young rider and wondered if this was some kind of a bizarre jest. But even as the moments passed by she could see no trace of humour on his face.

"Alger", she sighed at last and pulled away her hand from his. "I _am _the wife of your King. My love and loyalty belong to him completely. You must understand that even if there was the slightest inch of me that was willing and capable of betraying him, you would not survive his wrath."

His face paled noticeably and she thought he was imagining the instance of facing his king in battle. To mask his reaction he lowered his eyes, but he could not hide how his shoulders slumped. Gently she reached for his shoulder and the young man glanced warily at her. Lothíriel gave him a comforting smile.

"You are a brave young man, Alger. I have not forgotten the debt I owe to you. Both myself and the King are grateful to you, and I know you will continue to prove your worth in times to come. But that is all there is", she said, her voice warm and compassionate.

The rider let out an unhappy moan.

"I feel so idiotic, my lady. I apologise for my conduct", he mumbled, not daring to meet her eyes.

"It is all right, Alger. I'm glad you spoke of this to me", she said to him and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't be troubled. Your heart will find its true home, like mine did. It may not be today, and it may not be easy, but it will be worth it."

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><p>By the time Éomer came home, healer had already left Lothíriel with bandages to compress her ankle and instructions to recovery, and Éothain had limped in and out with a promise of providing her with crutches as soon as possible. The idea of having her ability to move so limited did not amuse Lothíriel one bit, but she knew all she could do was grit her teeth and wait for her ankle to heal.<p>

Her husband seemed concerned as he strode in to the royal chambers, as though such a minor injury warranted worrying – the man was hopeless – but his expression lightened a bit when he saw her smiling at him.

"Welcome home, beloved", she greeted him and he came to her side, lowering himself on one knee.

"Thank you, dear heart", he said and leant closer to kiss her. When he pulled back, he frowned, "Osythe said you had hurt yourself. Are you quite all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's just a twisted ankle – I should survive", she said and offered him another smile.

"I hope it doesn't hurt too much", he said, placing aside his gloves and reaching to brush hair from her cheek.

"I've had worse", she said and waved her hand dismissively. That brought a crooked little smile to his face and he rose up to his feet again.

"Let me just get rid of my armour. Have you had supper yet? I can go and fetch some – you should not be moving about with that ankle..."

_He may be a fuss, _she thought to herself with a fond smile, _but he's __**my **__fuss, and I would not trade him to anyone else. _

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><p>It was a quiet and pleasant night and Lothíriel's ankle did not become troublesome – rather, she did not complain about things like eating together by fire, or being carried into bed by her husband. And she certainly did not complain when she was safely nestled at the crook of his arm and he comfortably rested against some pillows. He had been telling her about his trip to the West-mark and the people he had met there, and in turn she had spoken of the past week's comings and goings in Edoras.<p>

"You know, when you ride out the next time, you may want to take young Alger with you. I think some time away from Edoras could do him good", she commented eventually.

"Why is that?" Éomer asked, absent-mindedly running his fingers up and down her arm.

"He told me today he is... well, he did not say it outright, but he didn't need to. It seems he's sporting some kind of an infatuation towards me", she said, watching his face to see how he'd react. The news didn't seem to move him over much, though: they were both quite confident in each other's love.

"Hmm. I'm not really very surprised. You are a beautiful woman, and braver and stronger than many that live now", he said softly and kissed her temple. As he pulled back one corner of his mouth rose in a half-smile, "I shall spend the rest of my days fighting off amorous men in the pursuit of your good favour."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. She shifted on her side and snuggled closer to him, as much as her ankle allowed.

"Whoever pursues my good favour is only wasting their time. My love is given to one only", she told him. His dark eyes glimmered and her heart swelled with love and contentment. It was good to see him happy and unburdened.

"And for that I will always consider myself a lucky man."

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's an update! I guess this may seem kind of random, but I was on a random mood when I wrote it. And sometimes random stuff just happens, don't you think? Anyway, I don't know how serious Alger's feelings really are. To my experience, young people are sometimes prone to be infatuated with a person they admire. Most often it's just a passing fancy but at a young age it's always larger than life.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Yes, Silfren is quite a special steed. :)

** Miss Pixie M - **Glad to hear that! I'm rather enjoying writing this one, and I've got plenty of ideas for more scenes/chapters, so I think we'll be on this ride for a while still!

**brandibuckeye - **And I think it was very much needed for them both. :)


	13. Chapter 13

_October 1, Rohan_

In October, an invitation to the King and Queen came from the Lord of Harrowdale. In his message, he said he was organising a feast to celebrate the successful rebuilding of homes after the spring floods, and seeing the throne had been essential in providing for the families while they picked up their lives again, Lord Déor hoped the royal couple would attend.

It was agreed they would go indeed, and so for the first time since the Kin-strife, they travelled together to the town of Harrow. Of course, Éomer had visited the place a few times during past months, but Lothíriel had not accompanied him, and now their arrival did bring back some memories that would probably always remain vivid in his mind.

Of course it was different too, because unlike the last time their coming was witnessed by the common folk, gathered on the sides of the road to watch the King and Queen ride by. It seemed they were particularly interested in seeing the Lady of the Mark – perhaps because they were curious if she'd appear similarly way-worn as the last time. But now one could not find fault in her skilfully braided hair, her dark blue cloak and spotless riding attire, made of purple fabric and sporting a split so she could ride astride. He imagined that should receive some appreciation among Eorlingas.

Déor seemed nervous when the royal escort arrived, while Banstan stood with him looking as stolid as ever. The young lord seemed even more uncomfortable when meeting the Queen, but on the old man's face there was not the slightest movement when he greeted her. However, Lothíriel's friendly smile never faltered. Being a queen had revealed in her something of a natural grace – Éomer could not say if it had always been there waiting to emerge, or if the journey south had given birth to it.

Either way, they were welcomed in Lord Déor's hall; before the feast in the evening, they would meet some nobility from the area along with their families, as many of them had yet to meet their new queen. As ever, it was interesting to see her navigating among them, for in some respects Rohirrim were just as prejudiced towards Gondorians as the southerners could sometimes be to their allies in north. Éomer knew very well how his people saw the high nobility of Stoningland, and while Lothíriel bore their looks and could make use of it to her advantage, she did not seem to conform to the idea of a well-bred princess. She had come here riding astride, she could talk fluently in Rohirric, and her manners were too easygoing to really fit with the image of a high and distant princess of the race of Westernesse. Moreover, he knew stories – both truthful and somewhat insane – had circulated among the people ever since the Kin-strife, and they must know what part she had played.

In short, there were times when Eorlingas were just as bewildered because of their young queen as Éomer himself had been when he had first met her.

Before the start of the feast they also met some of the families who had lost their homes due to the floods, and he was glad to hear the news of how well they had been able to rebuild their lives. Banstan's granddaughter was there as well; Éomer did not miss the looks of longing Hlísa cast towards his direction, nor the frown on Déor's face. He managed to keep a blank face, though he was surprised. One would have thought she would have moved on already and made notice of the young and fair lord of the town.

The matter passed his mind soon enough, and as the feast progressed Éomer had to agree Déor was at least a very hospitable host. Food and ale was plentiful and the good cheer of the crowd affected his mood as well. Though this was but a brief break from his many concerns, it was welcome. Lothíriel seemed to be enjoying herself too – when the plates and tables had been cleared away and chatter and laughter filled the Hall, Ceolwen whisked her away and soon Éomer could see the two women talking animatedly with Gamling's grand-niece Alfled. All three appeared to have good time, at least judging by how often they would burst out laughing. He hadn't known Ceolwen was familiar with Alfled, but then again Erkenbrand had once said everyone knew each other in the Mark, and there were often strong indicatives he was right.

He too had a pleasant time talking with people and seeing they were becoming more relaxed with him – during the Kin-strife and just after it many had regarded him with intimidated respect, even awe – but after fetching more ale and taking his seat again, things took a slightly bewildering turn.

Éomer did not see the girl approaching, not before she already was before him. He just about had time to give Hlísa an inquiring look before she fell on her knees and latched on his left hand, which rested empty on the armrest.

"My lord", she spoke, her voice just as animated as the last time he had met her. Though he usually had no trouble judging a person's character, with her he could not say if she was genuine or not. Strangely it reminded him of Banstan's stolid silence.

"What can I do for you, Hlísa?" he asked carefully, though he kept his tone friendly. The girl stared up at him with wide, brilliant green eyes.

"I just wanted to thank you for all you have done, my lord! I was so sad for losing my home, but then you came here, and everything was well again!" she said excitedly and went on talking, speaking so fast and disjointedly he could barely follow her. But the general impression seemed to be how pleased she was with him.

"I am glad everything has turned out all right", he said smoothly, though he kept a certain degree of remoteness to his tone. She really didn't need any more ideas planted in her head.

"My lord, I would wish to repay your help any way I can", Hlísa said, lowering her voice, perhaps trying for tempting huskiness she had not yet mastered. He was starting to feel like he'd perhaps have to show her some of his rougher manners to get cleanly out of this one... and make sure she'd get the point permanently.

"Use well the days, lass, and live in the way you may be proud of. I will not expect any other repayment", he said, his voice cooler now. She did not get the hint, though, for she moved closer to him, and suddenly she lowered her lips to the back of his fingers.

"Please, my king", she murmured against his skin – he nearly yanked his hand away – and lifted up her eyes into giving a coy look to him, "let me show my gratitude."

Éomer was still trying to come up with words that were not utterly hurtful, but would drive his point home. However, it turned out he did not have to, for arms wrapped about his neck from behind and there was a familiar good-humoured voice speaking: "Hello, lord husband. Will you introduce me to this young lady?"

Hlísa startled so suddenly that she nearly fell over; though she still didn't let go of his hand, he could see she had lost her nerve as she stared up at the Queen, who stood behind him. Éomer did not need to see his wife to know she was emanating only good-willing congeniality.

"This is Hlísa, a local girl whose home was lost in the spring floods", he said and relaxed on his seat. He knew he was quite safe from further approaches now that his Lioness had come to shelter him (he had to smile at the thought).

He looked at the girl, who was still kneeling, "I assume I don't have to introduce my wife the Queen."

"Nice to meet you, Hlísa", Lothíriel said, her voice friendly and warm.

"Likewise, my lady", the girl muttered and blinked. At least she let go of his hand; he drew it away and placed it on Lothíriel's, both to make the obvious statement and also hoping to avoid further contact with the girl.

"I know losing one's home must be a horrible thing, but I hope it has not been troublesome to settle down in your new abode", said his wife. Hlísa seemed to practically shrink before her mighty opponent, though perhaps that was not the right way to call someone who had already and irrevocably won.

"Aye, everything has gone so well", the lass muttered. She rose up on her feet at last and made a clumsy little curtsy. "I would thank you again, my king."

"You are welcome", Éomer merely said.

Without a further word she made her escape – young she might be, and perhaps foolish too, but she knew when she was beaten.

The royal couple remained quiet for a moment, and Lothíriel moved from behind the chair to sit on the armrest. When she spoke, her voice was light, "My poor man. You looked positively lost."

"Aye. I do not think I could have handled her so gracefully", he said, shaking his head. At first he felt ridiculous for not knowing how to deal with the girl, but then he considered it was because past two years he had been too busy to consider his manners towards young females who were interested in him. Lothíriel's entrance in his life meant he could not and did not want to answer to approaches like he might have in his younger days, and so he was lost in the face of such a meeting. Ladies like Osythe, Ceolwen and Scýne he had no trouble with, because they were friends and comrades.

His wife's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Young women... they see a handsome king and they lose their minds", Lothíriel said playfully and kissed his cheek, and he had to laugh at her self-irony. He turned his head to look at her.

"At least in your case the responses of the said king were not very helpful", he noted, which made her chuckle.

"Oh yes, he was quite a bewildering fellow. I'm so glad you saved me from him", she said, her voice amused and her eyes glimmering. The dear woman remained as apt as ever in making him laugh.

"Always a pleasure, my lady."

* * *

><p>The rest of the feast went by without further unwanted attention from young women, and Éomer had some pleasant time talking with the local folk.<p>

Lothíriel had gone to find Ceolwen again and he did not see her before the evening began to turn late. But couple of hours before midnight she appeared on his side, walking slowly and gingerly. He looked up at her inquisitively and she leant closer to him.

"I'm starting to feel tipsy. It would be a good time for you to take me to bed", she whispered, pronouncing the words very carefully as to not slur. He rose up to his feet right away, feeling quite surprised. He had never seen her drunk.

The sudden movement had her teetering and she took support of his arm.

"Did you have too much ale?" he asked quietly, which made her cringe.

"I tried to keep up with Ceolwen", she said, looking profusely disappointed in herself. With a slight smile he leant down to kiss her brow.

"I shall have a strong-worded conversation with her about making my queen drink", he told her solemnly. She just hiccuped as a reply.

His wife mostly remained quiet for the time it took him to say good night to Déor and thank him for the feast, but she did manage a "thank you" that did not sound entirely intoxicated.

As they made way to their chambers, she did lean heavily on him, but he supported her gladly, and he was happy no one tried to hinder them by attempts of engaging him in some conversation – Éomer too felt like it was a good time to retire. He bid good night to the royal guards stationed to night watch, and Lothíriel gave them a silent but tipsy smile, and then at last they got into the peaceful privacy of their room.

Getting undressed had its challenges, because his wife seemed to have lost the precise control of her fingers, and so needed help with the laces of her gown. He didn't mind, because she was giggly and very affectionate, and he found that quite endearing; even her wandering hands found an appreciative receiver in him.

Éomer half expected her to just pass out soon as she was out of her clothes and he had lifted her into the bed, but about the moment he laid himself next to her, she rolled on the top of him and engaged him in some hard, moist kissing. Her aim was less than perfect so half of it was more like slobbering, though, but he found he did not care.

Then in the middle of a kiss she suddenly seemed to just altogether lose her focus; she lay her head on his shoulder and passed out. It looked like she might very well sleep the night sprawled on the top of him, but he did not want her to end up with a stiff neck in the morning, so carefully he rolled her next to himself. Lothíriel mumbled something that sounded like Sindarin but did not wake up. Nor did she move when he pulled her against himself and wrapped an arm about her.

Having found a comfortable place for his face against her dark hair, Éomer let out a contented sigh. As sleep started to overcome, he thought of how much he loved his dear daft wife.

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's a silly little update, featuring a fangirl and a drunk Lothíriel! Let's just say my random mood continues.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>I'm glad you liked it. :)

**brandibuckeye - **She does indeed! I think after all that happened it would be inevitable someone at least would feel like that towards her.

**Felion - **Glad to see you're still following this story! :) Also I am happy to know my writings brighten up someone's day.


	14. Chapter 14

_November 1, Meduseld_

It was a loud sneeze from the washing chamber which awakened Lothíriel. She startled awake in the bed, sitting upright and finding the place next to her empty. On the night stand on the other side of the bed were many crumbled handkerchiefs someone would have to collect for washing, and an empty mug of healing tea she had fetched him during the night when his headache had got worse.

Then Éomer emerged from the washing chamber. His hair was messily falling on his shoulders, on which he clutched a blanket. He looked pale and tired and there were shadows under his eyes. _Her poor, sick horselord._

"Good morning", she greeted him nevertheless, "How are you feeling?"

It was perhaps not a wonder he had gone down with a cold after a long ride to inspect the progress of building in the Watch of the Wold; the two last days of the journey he and his guard had ridden in a continuous downpour of rain. She knew it was not the first time he and his company had travelled in such abysmal weather, but this certainly was the first time it had any impact on his health. When on the next day he had started to sneeze and suffer from a raw throat, Éomer had darkly muttered he must be getting old.

"Miserable and exhausted", he grumbled, making way back to the bed. He more or less collapsed there beside her and let out a sigh.

"You didn't get any sleep?" she asked tenderly, lifting up the blankets for him; though her body heat had kept the bed warm, he was still shivering when he pulled a cover over himself. Absent-mindedly she arranged some sleeping furs over his feet to keep them warm.

"Not much. So instead I stayed awake watching you sleep..." he murmured. "And you look very sweet when you are in dreams."

"You could have woken me up to keep you company", she informed him.

"No sense in both of us losing sleep", Éomer said, shaking his head. As a reply she snorted – it wasn't much of a surprise to receive such an answer from him. It was his special skill to make a fuss over her when it was himself he should be worrying about.

She leant down to kiss him nevertheless, but before she could do that he placed a hand on her chest, preventing her from getting closer.

"You'll get sick as well", he warned her.

"Do you really think there's a way I can avoid it?" she asked him and he groaned, but the sound ended in a sneeze. Lothíriel got up and fetched some fresh handkerchiefs for him and placed one in his hand; in his dark eyes there was a grateful light.

"Thank you, beloved", he said and turned to blow his nose. Gently she stroked his shoulder.

"I should maybe go and ask them to bring you more tea", she suggested then.

"Mm. I ought to be getting up anyway", Éomer muttered. "I've got a pile of appeals waiting, and I need to -"

Before he could continue she leant down again, and this time he did not try to prevent her kiss.

"As your wife and queen I say you should take the day off and stay in bed", she said firmly after pulling back. She smiled at him then, "Don't worry about those appeals. I'll attend to them, and ask Éothain to help me if needed."

"You are sure?" he asked, still hesitant. She rested a hand on his cheek.

"Of course. I will manage just fine, because I've had the best teacher I could imagine – my husband", she reminded him. Her words brought a small smile to his features and he lifted his hand to cradle hers.

"I still keep wondering how would I ever manage without you", he muttered and kissed her fingers.

"Don't wonder, beloved. Be glad in the knowledge that your road brought you to me", she said to him and leant down to kiss him. He welcomed that sign of affection and rested his free hand on the nape of her neck until she pulled back. Gently she patted his shoulder, "Get some rest. I will tell everyone you won't be receiving anyone today."

"Hmm. As my Queen commands", Éomer said quietly and let out a sigh. As he settled down and closed his eyes with a small cough, Lothíriel gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. He was a king and his was a life of many burdens, but she would take any chance she got to take care of him, if only for a moment... for whenever he let down his guard, and she would see the unveiled love and gratitude on his face, she knew how very much _this _meant.

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><p><strong>AN: **And the randomness continues! I don't know, maybe it's because I seem to be going down with a flu as well. Anyway, I hope you guys have a great new week!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>It was really very fun to write as well. :) Glad you liked it!

**brandibuckeye - **She's quite endearing indeed. :D

**Thalia - **It may seem surprising, yes. Maybe we'll discover more about it in the future. :)

**Felion - **I was cackling to myself when I imagined and wrote it. Poor man! :D


	15. Chapter 15

_Early February 2, Minas Tirith_

The parlour in the Steward's House was packed full: Faramir and Éowyn had insisted to host a gathering for the extended family and friends. There was Imrahil with his sons, his sister Lady Ivriniel, and his daughter-in-law Lady Aredhel. With the two women sat Lothíriel and it did not look like any of them might be leaving each others' company tonight, except whenever the young queen would flutter over to hug and kiss her father or one of her brothers for the sixtieth time. Éomer sat with Éowyn looking similarly absorbed as they talked away in fast Rohirric, and Faramir was conversing animatedly with his three cousins. Aragorn's eyes were drawn to his own wife: Arwen spoke quietly with Imrahil, her hands resting idly now that their little girl was in the care of the nurse for the night.

This was a gathering which did not often come together, and so it was all the more invaluable. Aragorn knew it had not been easy for his fellow king and his wife to leave their realm and the many concerns they had there, and so he was not quite capable of explaining how grateful he was for their presence. Éomer and Lothíriel had arrived only yesterday, and there had been a very emotional reunion when she had met her Gondorian family – some of whom she had not seen ever since the day she had set for Pelargir with the hopes of meeting Éomer returning from the southern campaign. Perhaps, if she had been able to decide, she would not attend to any court events, but rather spend most of her time here in the White City with her kin.

Regarding the faces of the people gathered in the parlour and listening to the rises and falls of their voices, Aragorn felt something warm spreading in his heart. After all the strife past few years had seen he could now say _it was all right. _Their roads had lead them home and love had found a way, for him and for Arwen, just as it had for his Rohirric friend and the princess.

"What are you thinking of so intently?" asked the voice of Faramir, distracting Aragorn from his thoughts. He turned to look at his friend and Steward and smiled; he had been harbouring his own suspicions but Arwen had confirmed it. There would soon be another happy announcement.

"Just life, my friend, and how far we have come. Though I always hoped, I could never imagine how beautiful peace could be_", _Aragorn said and gazed about himself again. Faramir seemed to know exactly what he meant, for the younger man nodded solemnly.

The King of the Reunited Kingdom turned to pour them both some wine, and his Steward silently accepted the glass. It was sweet golden from the southern gardens of Gondor, and its makers boasted their vines had originally come from Númenor.

"It is a good and fair thing", Faramir said softly, his eyes lingering on his wife. He glanced then at Aragorn and smiled, "and I would claim we have earned it."

"Indeed. This peace was needed and still is", said Elessar. His eyes too had shifted towards the two golden-haired heads. Then Éomer's rich laughter rose, and it was joined by that of Éowyn, clear like a bell. Both their eyes, one pair dark and the other blue, were glimmering with some inner light.

"It is good to see them laugh. Éowyn will rest easier now", Faramir commented, his voice falling even more quiet now. Aragorn could only agree, especially when he remembered the fateful days when the doom of Rohan and all of the West still hung on a balance. He had sensed quiet unhappiness in both children of Éomund. There had been Éowyn's raw despair, and Éomer had seemed convinced he would not survive – he had accepted it with a kind of grim calmness one might have found terrible. It all had changed with the ending of War. Éowyn had found Faramir and the meeting had awakened her like spring awakens a flower, exposing to her all the good and fair that still was in the world. And Éomer... well, first he had been bewildered to have survived, and then his life was turned upside down and renewed, because Lothíriel had made her grand entrance, and somehow in the process the joy of living had grown in his heart.

"Yes. She worries so much for her brother... as did I, until now at least. You can tell only so much based on letters, and I have been thinking of how he was before he left Pelargir with Lothíriel", Aragorn remarked, frowning briefly. It soon made way for the relief and wonder of knowing that she had broken through her horselord's walls even after the south.

Faramir glanced at him and seemed to know what he thought. The Steward smiled.

"My cousin has a rare spirit. I always knew given the chance, it would grow into something beautiful. If Rohan gave me one of her greatest treasures, I would say Gondor has fully paid that debt", he said fondly.

Aragorn smiled; it was good to know his friends had been just as blessed as himself. He lifted his glass and Faramir returned the gesture.

"To the family."

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><p>While Lothíriel did not particularly fancy making official appearances, she still understood the necessity – after all, it wouldn't have been much of a celebration if the invited guests wouldn't even arrive.<p>

Meeting the society was the one thing she had not been looking forward to when travelling to Gondor. She could only imagine what stories had come to south after the Kin-strife, and what people thought of the part she had played. After all, she _had_ run off with a man of Rohan – even if the said man was a king. No doubt some elderly courtiers were bemoaning what a dreadful example she had set to all young ladies of Gondor, and surely noble maidens from Lossarnarch to Belfalas would be eloping with their secret lovers?

As a result, she was more or less a bundle of nerves on the evening of the great celebration, and frantically she smoothed her gown – she had chosen green and silver – and tried to not touch her hair. Ceolwen's hand had left an undeniably Rohirric air to the crown of braids.

Éomer followed her fussing for a time, until eventually he came to her and gave her a long, calming kiss. When it ended, he gently cradled her face between his hands.

"Beloved", he spoke, his voice soft and low, "what do you have to fear from them?"

She smiled sheepishly and hugged him. She could always trust him to keep her feet on the ground when her head was in the clouds.

"You are right, of course", she said and tiptoed to kiss him once more.

"Hmm. You look beautiful today", he murmured when she had pulled back again.

"Are you surprised your wife is a woman after all?" she asked playfully, which made him laugh.

"Oh, dear one, I never forget it for a second", he informed her.

"I thought of donning on my chain-mail and breeches, but I think Aunt Ivriniel might faint if she saw me like that", she commented lightly before she sobered again, "Thank you, though. And you are not looking too bad yourself."

Indeed, one could not stress enough how well green went with him, and he had let her do small braids – two on each side of his head and then linked at the back – in his hair. He truly looked like a king of a wild northern land.

A slight smile touched his face and he offered her his arm, "Shall we go, then?"

"Lead the way, O Lord of the Mark", she replied and placed her hand on his.

When they were nearing Merethrond, she could pick up the soft rise and fall of the chattering crowd that was already gathered there. They did not enter right away – one could not avoid formalities like being announced by the royal herald – and so Lothíriel took one more chance of smoothing her gown. Éomer looked at her gently and smiled. He didn't need to say anything to convey his message. She gave him a sheepish grin. After the south and Kin-strife she still had nerves for meeting Gondorian nobility!

But then she had to focus again, for the herald's voice rang before them: "Their Majesties, King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel of Rohan!"

The doors opened and they stepped into the candlelit hall of Merethrond. It was as she remembered: the vast hall filled with guests, though never before her arrival had piqued the interest of so many people. The light of candles seemed to give colour to the pale stone walls and floors of the hall, which to her own eyes most often looked colourless. Well, it was a beautiful place, but in a way mountains were beautiful: cold and unreachable. One might admire it from afar, yet one would not wish to give it a closer look.

What she hadn't remembered were the smells. The variety of perfumes mixing in the air like a sickly sweet cacophony of fragrances, some more outrageous than the others. Shaking her head, Aredhel had commented apparently it as in vogue even for the men to use perfumes. Lothíriel couldn't imagine a stranger contrast to the wind and sun and horses she would smell on Éomer, and if he came from sparring or a battle, she might detect a hint of chain-mail mixing with sweat.

The most prominent thing on this moment was not the air or the lights. Really, she felt like each and every pair of eyes in the hall were fixed on the two of them. She could very well understand the interest in Éomer; this was, after all, his first formal appearance since the southern campaign. One might have thought it would make him nervous, but when she stole a glance of his face, she could only see a calm expression on his face – regal, dignified, and utterly unmoved by the attention he was receiving. She tried to mimic it (and hoped she didn't look like she had just swallowed a pole).

Side by side they made way through the crowd, and somehow she felt like he lent his shine to her as well; moving with the gown became easier when she wasn't fussing about it so much, and she even felt queenly beside him.

But more than that, she felt worthy of him.

* * *

><p>The feast was a busier event than he had even guessed. Éomer had expected he would be meeting a fair number of the noble guests, but the sheer volume of people was slightly bewildering.<p>

What was not bewildering were their questions: most of them were essentially the same, and some went to matters so private that a more sensitive man might have been offended. Patience wasn't always his strongest suit, though becoming a king had certainly made it necessary, and at any rate he had known all along that being interrogated by the nobility in social events was inevitable.

He was not the only one being questioned, because when he glanced about the crowd in search for Lothíriel, he could see she too was surrounded by a group of young ladies. Apparently they had besieged her the moment he had left her side – he could only imagine what things they were inquiring her.

Éomer's attention was brought back to his own immediate surroundings by the arrival of yet another lord. He was named Torion if his memory served him right; he remembered the man mainly from his particularly vehement attempts of offering his daughter's hand in marriage. Éomer gathered it had not even occurred to Lord Torion his daughter had not actually fancied the idea of such a union, and though he had only met her very briefly after his betrothal, he had got the impression the young lady was quite thankful to Lothíriel.

"My lord of Rohan!" called Lord Torion now, smiling so widely Éomer did not entirely trust it. "I cannot express how glad I am to see you among the living! Yet I must say, I could hardly believe it when I first heard of your return, and even now I wonder if my eyes deceive me."

"I am quite alive still, much to the common amazement", Éomer commented smoothly.

"And no wonder the society is amazed, my lord King. I'm even tempted to demand you tell me everything about it. Perhaps I might even invite you and your lady Queen to a supper so that we can share this wondrous tale?" said the man hopefully. The Rohir was able to conjure something like a smile.

"I'm afraid my time here in the city is very limited and in high demand. I must decline your offer", he said curtly. A slight frown appeared on Lord Torion's face, but only very briefly.

"Still, my lord, we have heard so many wild tales here in Gondor that one has to wonder if even half of it is true. But I'm sure what we hear have little to do with what truly happened. For one, I find it hard to believe that Prince Imrahil's daughter could perform such deeds", said the man and sipped his wine. Now it was Éomer's turn to frown: this nobleman had the gall to tell _him _what had happened?

"I do not know what tales you have heard, but truth is she saved my life. Moreover during the Kin-strife she acted like a true queen, and she deserves all the praise she has received", he stated sternly. His words made Lord Torion lift up his eyebrows.

"Truly, my lord? You accept such behaviour from your consort?" he inquired. Éomer met his gaze, straight and sharp.

"I'm afraid your question makes little sense to me, because without her actions I would not stand here now. It is not difficult to me to acknowledge bravery when I see it. In fact I do not think anyone else, man or woman, would have been able to do what she did for me and for the Riddermark", he said, his voice cool now.

Lord Torion blinked and looked like he was trying to come up with something to say, but he never did get to it – a friendly, familiar voice interrupted the scene, much to Éomer's delight.

"Éomer, Lord Torion – I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" spoke Imrahil, smiling pleasantly at the two men. The King of the Mark hurried to answer before Torion had a chance to respond.

"You are welcome to join us, of course", he said calmly. To himself he thought if it was some special calling of the Amrothian House to save him from shows of temper. Even so, Imrahil was the picture of complaisance.

"I must apologise for barging in like so, but these days have been so busy, and I have barely had a chance to talk properly with my son-in-law the King", he remarked and gracefully toasted his glass with that of Éomer. There was only a slight shift on Lord Torion's face, but it was enough – the man was thoroughly displeased with Imrahil. Yet judging by the Prince's expression, he was blissfully unaware.

"And I have been thinking about inviting you to visit us in Edoras – if Aragorn can spare you, my friend. Family is always welcome in the Golden Hall", Éomer assented, as he had some idea of what his father-in-law was doing.

The Prince of Dol Amroth smiled and proceeded into a conversation about the trading relationship between his city and Rohan, but Éomer knew him well enough to realise he was not really talking business. However, Lord Torion did not seem as interested in the subject and quickly excused himself. Other enthusiastic noblemen hoping to catch the Rohirric king in a conversation seemed to be equally reluctant to engage King Elessar's friend and lieutenant in a battle for Éomer's attention.

"Thank you for interfering, my friend", said the younger man when Torion was gone. Imrahil let out a soft chuckle.

"You did look like you were praying for some kind of an intervention. I'm more than happy to oblige", he said lightly and tasted his wine – sweet Gondorian white Lothíriel was fond of.

"It would have been more bearable if everyone were not asking the variations of same questions. You can only answer them so many times before it becomes tedious", said Éomer and thought whether getting a refill was a good idea or not.

"Don't worry. They will move along to the next thing soon enough", Imrahil replied and emptied his glass. He looked at the younger man, "Now, pray tell me, how is that daughter of mine doing in the Mark? And how soon should I be expecting to become a grandfather to some golden-haired little riders?"

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><p>The February night was a chilly one in the garden of the Citadel, and though spring had yet to arrive and make the flowers bloom, Lothíriel thought it was still rather beautiful at this time: the dark blue and moon-silver of the late hour had always held a kind of magic in her eyes. She knew it was dear to Elves as well, and so wondered if it was Mithrellas' ancestry that also made the sight so fair in her eyes.<p>

In her younger years, she had often thought of the Elven maiden who had given life to her line, and felt a kind of kinship that went beyond sharing her blood. But now as she quietly walked in the garden to catch a moment of peace from the feast, she realised she had not given any thought to her ancestress in some time. Quietly she wondered if it was because in her maiden days she had never felt like belonging, and so a figure like Mithrellas had captivated her... now, grown into womanhood, she had no doubt of where was her home.

She came to the terrace overlooking the city. Minas Tirith was in quiet and peace after another day; she briefly thought if she could go and visit the markets with Ceolwen, Aredhel and Éowyn some time, to see how the city was now with the wars at halt for once.

Quiet footsteps alerted her and she turned her head, only to see a familiar tall figure approaching her. Smile spread on her face as she reached a hand towards him, and then her fingers were enveloped in the steady warmth she knew well. Éomer pulled her into his embrace and she let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"I'm surprised they let you out of their sight", she said after a moment. Her words made him laugh quietly.

"Your father seems like an effective shield to curious society", he replied. Now was her turn to chuckle.

"He is more devious than he looks", Lothíriel said fondly and looked up at her husband. "I think we should be able to retire soon, if you want to."

"Hmm. I am not opposed to that idea", her beloved murmured and kissed her brow. Then he pulled back and looked at her, and a bit strange expression came to his face.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, resting hands on his waist.

"Do you remember another time and another night we were here?" Éomer asked, gently brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. The memory came to her without much effort; a slow smile spread on her face as she recalled a feast three years ago.

"This is where you asked me to marry you", she whispered in a trembling voice. The words he had spoken to her... _Future, fortune, fate... _she had not forgotten and she never would. In many ways, those words had already come to pass, and she knew they would hold much more for years to come.

Éomer smiled at the memory and kissed her, cradling her face between his hands. At the end of it, she melted yet another embrace and rested her head against his shoulder.

Very quietly he asked: "Have you ever regretted that you said yes in the end?"

She held him tighter, her heart full of how much she loved this man.

"No. And I know I never will."

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><p>In the dream, she was back in the south. She knew it from the heat of the sun, the dry brittle smell of dust that crept everywhere She was hot and tired from running, stumbling across a rocky plain, but she knew she must go on: up above her rose a hill and its sides were crawling with men. But she did not see their faces. In fact, there was only one she could clearly see in the middle of the fray, standing out like he was a flame blazing in the shadows.<p>

He was dealing death blows to left and right, and each swing brought down one of his foes, but there were just too much enemies advancing. If she didn't get to him in time... Lothíriel tried to call out his name, to tell him to hold on, but her voice was raspy and raw and no matter how fast she ran, she did not seem to get much closer to him.

"Éomer! I'm coming!" she cried out, but he didn't hear her.

She never saw him fall. Even the men he had been fighting just seemed to dissolve, because at first the site was swarming and suddenly it was quiet and empty, except for the dead men and horses on the ground. She saw their torn green cloaks, the dented helmets, the blood dripping from leaf mail...

_He _lay there in the middle of them. He was on his back, but unlike his men he was without an armour. Multiple sword wounds had been his end, but whether it had been painful or if he had been scared, it didn't show on the blank features. His dark eyes, so vivid and keen in life, stared vacantly into nothingness.

_She had come too late. _

"No! Éomer!"

Her cries came as though shrieks of a wounded animal, and if Éomer had been alive, their sound would have sent him flying to her... but he moved not, not even when she cradled him to her and tried to kiss life back into him, as though her breath might waken him still.

_No please don't go not like this don't leave me... _

"Lothíriel! Lothíriel!"

Someone was calling her, but how could she care, how could she answer... now someone was shaking her and there was distress in that voice...

The first thing she realised was the darkness, the absence of the southern sun which had been forever engraved in her memory. In the room it was dark and moonlight streamed in... there was enough of it for her to see the concerned face hovering over her.

"Lothíriel? Are you all right?" he asked, his hands firm but gentle on her shoulders, which he had been shaking in an attempt to wake her up.

It was only then that she realised she was crying. A wrenching sob escaped her throat and she threw her arms about him, slightly violent and desperate. Éomer cradled her close and held her tight.

"Shh, my love. It was just a nightmare. It is not real", he murmured into her hair while she was still shaking with tears. He kept whispering quiet, comforting things in his own tongue, like he thought it might calm her down better than any other speech. But it wasn't really the words that he spoke rather than his voice which soothed the fright and terror of the nightmare. Still, even as tension left her muscles and she felt reassured in awakeness, she didn't let go of him.

"What did you dream of?" he asked at last, sensing she had calmed down enough to speak.

"I was... I dreamt of the south. I saw you fighting, but... I couldn't get to you before it was too late", Lothíriel mumbled. Her voice threatened to break down and she fought the terror of her dream. The grip of her hands became tighter again, "I can't lose you."

"And you won't. I promise", Éomer replied calmly. With gentle fingers he lifted up her chin and looked at her, "We made it home, beloved. All of it has passed."

"Yes", she agreed quietly. He gave a small kiss to her forehead and she let out a trembling breath. _It was just a dream. _

"Do you want something to drink? I could go and ask someone to bring us tea to help you calm down", he offered, but immediately she gripped him tighter again.

"No. Don't go", she mumbled, aware of how pathetic it sounded, but unable to fight it.

"Of course not. I'm not going anywhere", he reassured her.

Carefully he pulled he into laying down again, keeping both his arms about her. She sighed and moved as close as she could, fitting her face against his neck. There was his smell, his warm skin – comforting things in their familiarity. He hummed a soft little tune that made the muscles of his throat tremble. _He was alive. _

Not long after, sleep came again. This time, it was without dreams.

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's a little something for Thursday! I thought to take us to Gondor for a little while, and I would imagine the next chapter will take place there as well.

Also it seems to me that Lothíriel too would have an occasional nightmare, though hers are of a bit different nature than those Éomer has sometimes.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>brandibuckeye - <strong>The world always needs more Éomer/Lothíriel cuteness! :)

**Jo - **I'm sad to hear that! Hope you feel better soon.


	16. Chapter 16

On the morrow his wife was quieter than usual. Éomer deemed it best to not pry – she never asked much about his nightmares, though she had made it clear she would always listen if he wanted to talk. Yet it turned out he did not need to ask anything, because soon as they were both dressed for the day, she reached for his hand and looked at him, bearing a slightly troubled look on her face. Truth was it had alarmed him last night, waking up to the sound of her crying in her sleep... how vulnerable she had seemed although the dream had ended. But perhaps even lionesses had their weak moments.

"I'm sorry for last night. I don't know why I was so upset", she said, frowning as she spoke.

Gently he wrapped an arm about her shoulders.

"You needn't apologise, dear one. Nor do you have to explain anything. I know very well how powerful dreams can be", he reminded her. Indeed, he still had nightmares occasionally, though he usually rested more peacefully these days.

"I just... I didn't mean to startle you like that", she said softly and idly smoothed a tiny crease on his coat.

"It's fine. You've dealt with my nightmares – it is only right I deal with yours", he reminded her steadily and kissed her temple. "Do you know why you would have that dream now?"

"Maybe it's just this city. Being here brings back many memories... and all those people asking endless questions about what happened in the south. I think it made me remember how scared I was that I would not find you before it was too late", she said at length and looked up at him thoughtfully. "Don't worry about it, though. I'm fine now."

Indeed, it did look like no shadow of the nightmare lurked in her eyes. So Éomer gave his wife a smile and a kiss, and they left their chambers to join Aragorn and Arwen for breakfast. Even so, it was probably inevitable that he would have mixed feelings for the suggestion Amrothos made later that day when he came to see them in the Citadel: he wanted to invite his sister to join him, their two brothers and Faramir for a trip to Ithilien. She agreed to it right away of course, but Éomer had his doubts. After all, her absence still made him uneasy, and what if there were orcs and bandits in those woods?

Ceolwen, however, was helpful in keeping him in line.

"It will be good for her. It's not like she often gets to spend time with her brothers and cousin, and we both know she misses them", she said calmly. Then, seeing his expression, she scoffed and went on, "And if there is a bandit or an orc stupid enough to attack this company, I would be most surprised. Even if your wife weren't perfectly capable of looking after herself, do you seriously think her brothers or Faramir would ever let her get hurt?"

There wasn't much he could say to that, so Éomer just groaned and told her to shut up. Ceolwen, the damned woman, had the gall to laugh.

On the next morrow he saw the company on their way. Lothíriel seemed excited, though she insisted she would be back in a few days, and she kissed him many times before mounting her horse. Faramir received a similar treatment from Éowyn, who would be staying in Mundburg, and when he strode to his own steed, she came to stand at her brother's side.

Soon their loved ones were on the move, waving back at those staying behind, and Imrahil's sons were cheerfully bantering between themselves. Lothíriel grinned and sent Éomer a flying kiss – he hid his frown from her, wondering if this was how she felt every time he had to ride out. If so, he had never realised how much it demanded of her. The woman truly was made of some strong stuff.

He remained watching the company until they had passed. Then Éowyn touched gently his forearm.

"Now, don't be so grim, brother. They'll be back in a few days", she said and smiled. She linked her arm with his, "And seeing you're free for once, would you fancy a walk with your dear sister?"

"Of course I would. Lead the way", he replied and gave a slight smile to her.

As fetching a proper guard would have been too much of a fuss, and anyway staying in the Citadel guaranteed moderate peace, they did not venture from the Court of the Fountain. It offered some great views too, and they could observe the company of Faramir and Lothíriel as they made for the river.

"I'm slightly surprised you didn't insist to go along", Éomer remarked, which words made her hem softly.

"I see you too seldom these days, brother, so I would like to spend what time there is with you", she commented and patted his arm. "And anyway, Faramir would have thrown a fit had I tried to go with them."

He looked at her in bewilderment.

"Is he angry with you for something?" he wanted to know. As far as he knew, the relationship between his sister and the Steward was harmonious one; his temper threatened to rise when he thought Faramir had done something to hurt her feelings.

However, Éowyn let out a silvery laugh.

"Of course not. It's not like that, brother", she said calmly and shook her head. "Béma's beard, you never change, do you?"

"I might consider it if you occasionally spoke sense", he huffed. She laughed again.

"Faramir would have been opposed to me going because he's just like any man. They seem to think a pregnant woman might fall apart at the slightest disturbance", Éowyn said serenely and looked ahead. She glanced at her brother and smiled, "Yes, brother. You are going to become an uncle."

Éomer stopped. He stared at her, barely daring to believe what she had just told him. His little sister, pregnant!

"Really? You are not jesting?" he demanded in a weak, hoarse voice. Her smile was gentle and warm.

"Why would I jest in such a way?" she asked back.

He wasted no more words. Instead, he grabbed his sister and hugged her tight – well, at first it was tight, but then he thought he should be more careful with her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her or the babe.

"I'm happy for you, sister. You will be a great mother", he said, his voice weak with emotion. When he pulled back he expected to see her smiling. Instead, there were tears in her eyes.

Concerned, he asked: "Is something wrong?"

"Brother... I just wish Uncle were here", she said softly, wiping a hand across her eyes. Gently he wrapped his arms about her once more and held her, knowing so very well the ache for the dear old man's presence.

"He would be so glad too, if he knew all the wonderful things you now have in your life", Éomer murmured in soft tones. His sister smiled through her tears and held tight his hand. He smiled then, "Though I must admit I'm afraid he would have set a far longer betrothal time for you and Faramir. You were very dear to him."

The words made her laugh again.

"You are probably right at that. In fact, I would not have been surprised if he had set some dragon's hoard as the condition of our marriage... but if there is a man on this Middle-earth who would achieve such a feat, it is my Faramir", she chuckled and blinked away her tears.

"That sounds like what Uncle would do", Éomer agreed and returned her smile. "Have you told anyone else yet?"

"No, I wanted to tell you first – outside Faramir, of course. Then again I think Arwen already knows, and Aragorn too. It doesn't seem like one can keep things from them", Éowyn replied, linking her arm with his again. She grinned, "I'm going to have a child. Can you imagine?"

When after a while they turned to make way to her and Faramir's house, Éomer could only smile. It was good to know their line would be renewed once more.

* * *

><p>The first night of their trip they camped in a wood near the river Anduin. The day had gone by in a hurry as they had travelled through the sunny woodlands, and Amrothos had been enjoying himself thoroughly for this time away from the court. Lothíriel seemed to enjoy herself too: she'd banter with him and Faramir, gently tease Erchirion, and converse more seriously with Elphir. The oldest of Imrahil's children appeared at times slightly bewildered by their little sister, which Amrothos could understand: he had not yet got used to the change there had been in her. But whenever she'd fall quiet and ride alone for a while, Amrothos would notice a somber, thoughtful look on her face.<p>

He did not approach her though, not before they had made camp that night and the sun had set. She had settled down already, but she was not sleeping; when Amrothos came to his sister's side, she was watching the stars.

"You have been quiet tonight", he observed, mostly to just start a conversation.

"I was just thinking of all the nights I've spent under the stars", she replied, glancing briefly at him. He smiled and settled down next to her.

"Oh, yes. I can't believe of the two of us you have travelled farer and wider than myself", he said, lowering his voice as though to accuse her. His sister recognised the jest and let out a small chuckle.

"It was not my plan, I assure you", she said as her chuckles faded. She turned her eyes heavenwards again and let out a soft sigh.

"Is everything all right, sister?" Amrothos asked, watching her closely. His question earned him a slight smile.

"Everything is fine", she said firmly. When she went on, her voice fell softer, "I've just been thinking, and I... Amrothos, do you believe in fate?"

Her words made him blink in surprise. He had no idea of where that question had come from and what had made her think about such things.

"Well, you remember what our old teacher Master Gobelon used to say? That the Númenóreans and the Edain of the First Age believed us mortals were given more power to shape our destinies?" he asked back, as he wasn't sure what he should say. Truth be told, he had never really thought about ideas like fate. His life had always been simpler than hers, and he had never struggled with the feeling of not belonging.

"You believe that?" she asked, frowning now. "I sometimes wonder if it was just something Númenóreans came up with. That they claimed their fathers in Beleriand believed so too. But maybe it was all about their pride. Maybe they just wanted to think they had power to choose their fates."

"What makes you think so?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I don't know. It's just... when I try to imagine where I would be now, had I not met Éomer... I can't do it, not even in the slightest. I wonder if it was fate – if it always was, for every twist and turn", she spoke at length. She was frowning too and her eyes were fixed on the stars.

"If fate is what it's about – is it a bad one, then?" he asked, turning to his side so that he could watch her.

"Of course not. Not only am I happily married, I'm also finding that I like being a queen. It is not easy always, but facing the challenges and seeing you can take it... it's fulfilling, realising you can and you do make a difference. That's what I mean, Amrothos. Without all this, what would I be? An old maid, idling my days away in Father's castle until one day I would realise my life was but a series of meaningless motions?" she said and her voice turned dark. He had to scoff at her words.

"I really don't see that happening to you – not with that temperament. You would have come up with something... became a pirate, or some such thing", he said wryly and a smile visited her face. He continued speaking then, but now his voice came softer and gentler, "Maybe I'm not smart enough to figure out a vague idea like fate, but one thing I do know. Not many people walk their paths as determinedly as you travel yours."

* * *

><p>The designed day of their departure came with a proper storm from the north, sweeping over the White City with heavy hail and wind. Éomer was not pleased at this development but grudgingly he had to decree they would not be leaving that day.<p>

"When I was a Marshal this would not have held me back", he said to Lothíriel and kissed her brow. He scoffed, "I must be going soft."

As an answer she winked.

"If you truly believe that, then just who was the man I got in bed with last night?" she asked him slyly in Rohirric, making him nearly choke with laughter. Lothíriel experienced something similar when the unsuspecting Faramir asked if they were all right.

After breakfast he was whisked away by Aragorn, Faramir and Father, and Lothíriel deemed they would be talking politics at least until lunch. She entertained the idea of joining, because she always appreciated an opportunity to learn more about ruling, but unfortunately Aredhel had other ideas. Before Lothíriel could come up with a way to join the menfolk, her sister-in-law already invited her and Ceolwen to Father's house.

It would have been rude to decline, and anyway before this trip she had not seen Aredhel in such a long time, even if they had been in correspondence since last spring. So Lothíriel kept thoughts of politics to herself and decided she would interrogate Éomer later on.

She knew her sister-in-law meant well, but the young queen had to hide her frustration when they had sat down in the solar and Aredhel produced an elaborate piece of embroidery she was working on, suggesting perhaps her companions too had brought along some needlework. She was surprised to see Ceolwen producing a piece of fabric from the purse on her belt, though her surprise was not because she hadn't seen the Shieldmaiden at such work before. As a matter of fact, Ceolwen considered needlework pleasant pastime, though she didn't often have time for it.

"It's relaxing and gives you time to think", her friend had simply said and shrugged. While she obviously handled the needle better than the young queen, her patterns had a tendency of being erratic.

Why she was surprised was that Ceolwen would carry such a piece with her. Aredhel seemed to think similarly, as she asked to see the piece of fabric, and the blonde woman spread it before her. It was too small to be anything else than a handkerchief.

"It's nice, but I don't really understand the pattern here", Aredhel commented carefully. Ceolwen gave her a wry smile.

"It's a joke. Don't ask me to explain, though – I'm afraid only Elfhelm would understand it", she said. Aredhel blinked and leant back again, but to her credit she did not make any comments. Though Elphir's wife was as close as it got to a proper Gondorian noblewoman, she treated exceptions to the norm with a kind of respect and sympathy many people could learn from.

Lothíriel's thoughts were interrupted when her sister-in-law spoke to her.

"I take it you have not made any attempts to practice needlework?" Aredhel asked gingerly.

"Not many", said the younger woman and felt slight despair when she thought of the shirt she had tried to make for Éomer. It looked like without Eadgyd's tutelage, she was a hopeless case.

"I still think you just need to practice. Your problem is your impatience", said her sister-in-law. "You don't have to be perfect right away... maybe he might like a night shirt?"

"Um. That would be a waste of time and effort", Lothíriel muttered awkwardly.

"Of course not. I'm sure he'd love it, considering it was made by you", Aredhel said dismissively.

"No doubt he would, but he wouldn't wear it", the younger woman said, trying not to cringe but failing. She could already see where this conversation was headed but could not come up with a way to alter its way.

"Surely your handiwork isn't that bad?" Elphir's wife asked doubtfully and tilted her head, looking at Lothíriel inquisitively.

"It's not because of my handiwork."

"Then why on earth wouldn't he wear a night shirt you had made?" Aredhel wanted to know.

The young queen sighed. _Oh, damn it. _

"Because he sleeps naked."

Her sister-in-law's eyes widened. Then came the blush she had known to expect. She could be an outrage when it came to being a proper noblewoman, but even Lothíriel knew naked husbands were not a topic for light small talk between ladies – and least of all for kinswomen. Would that she were with the menfolk, talking about politics! At least she thought they were unlikely to discuss sleeping arrangements.

She couldn't decide if it was surprising or not that Ceolwen saved the scene. Or, at least she made it a bit more bearable.

"Elfhelm does too. I wouldn't mind if he didn't always try to steal the blankets in his sleep", said the Shieldmaiden matter-of-factly, needling away like she were Míriel Serindë herself. Then she smiled, half to herself, "There is something about sleeping next to a big hairy man."

"I know", Lothíriel said, carefully controlling her voice as to not fall into a furious bout of giggles.

"Sweet Elbereth", Aredhel muttered, her face that of a woman resigning herself to her fate, "if I will ever be able to look straight into the eyes of your husbands again, it will not be thanks to _you." _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Don't ask me what this is. I guess I was on some weird caffeine high when I wrote that last part? :D Either way, here's something happy, something sombre, and something silly. Hope you liked it!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

><p><strong>Jo <strong>- Hopefully you are getting better at least. Being sick can be really annoying. And yes, I also think Lothíriel would occasionally have some restless dreams. She too went through some things that can and will come back to haunt her.

**brandibuckeye - **Something Gondorian seemed to be in order! :) Glad you liked it.

**Thalia - **Thanks! Here comes some more. :)


	17. Chapter 17

_March 2, Edoras_

Ceolwen found him in the royal stables, brushing Silfren's coat after a long hard ride to the plains. A soft nicker from the stallion alerted him to her arrival. Éomer looked up and saw his captain; she stood regarding him quietly, half in sunlight and half in the gentle warm shadow of the stables. On her face there was an uncharacteristic uncertain expression.

"Is something amiss, my friend?" he asked calmly and continued with his task. While in Gondor, stablehands had wondered at a king who would care for his own steed, but to Éomer it seemed that Silfren did not suffer a southerner's hand as well as that of an Eorling.

"No, of course not", she said and approached him slowly. "There is just something I would tell you."

"What is it?" he asked and gave her another glance. Now it looked like her uncertainty lessened and instead, a slight smile, somehow disbelieving, made way to her features.

"You remember our deal? That I would serve you for a while, but not indefinitely?" she inquired softly and stopped by Silfren's stall.

"I haven't forgotten", Éomer replied, his hands stopping to rest on the stallion's side. Solemnly he looked at his captain and saw the confirmation on her face. He spoke, his voice soft now, "The time has come, then?"

"Aye. It has come", she said gently. Her smile widened, "I am with child."

Without a word Éomer put aside the brush and closed the distance there remained between himself and the Shieldmaiden. He lay his hand on her shoulder, strong and unyielding, and looked straight at her.

"I am happy for you, Ceolwen, and for Elfhelm. It is a lucky child, to have you two for parents", he said solemnly.

She searched his face carefully, "You are not displeased that I will be resigning?"

Éomer gave his friend a crooked little smile.

"Of course I am displeased to lose such a great captain, but why would I ever try to prevent you from living your life? Or, would I dare?" he inquired, making her smile too. He considered her soberly then, "Do you think Edelric is ready to take up your mantle?"

"Aye, I do believe he is. He will serve you well", Ceolwen stated.

"I expect nothing less after being mentored you and Éothain", Éomer said. He smiled at her, "I would thank you for this past year. It will be strange without you as my captain."

She returned his smile. If there had been uncertainty on her before, now it was gone completely.

"And it will be stranger still to move on. You take care of yourself, my friend – if you get yourself killed when I'm not guarding you, I shall be most disappointed."

* * *

><p>After a week's time, Ceolwen and Elfhelm were set to leave for Astdun. The Marshal was even more energetic and cheerful than usual, brimming with the pride and happiness of a man expecting the birth of his first child ("If he keeps this up for next eight months, I may go mad", Ceolwen had snorted). Though she wasn't quite as vocal, the smile on her face spoke of her own gladness.<p>

When Lothíriel asked if the Shieldmaiden would return to being the King's Captain after the child had been born, her friend shook her head.

"Of course I'm sad to leave my position as captain, and perhaps I could even carry on doing it after the child is born, but... I feel that resigning completely is the only right decision I can make as the King's second in command. For as a captain one may have to risk one's life for the King and the Queen, and one can't let others distract you. I am afraid that as a mother I will not be able to shut out myself in a way captain has to", she explained, and there wasn't really much Lothíriel could say to that. She knew Ceolwen had to live her own life.

Still, as they stood saying their goodbyes, Lothíriel hugged Ceolwen for a long while.

"I'm going to miss you so much", she mumbled, her voice heavy with tears. Her friend smiled when she pulled back.

"Don't be so sad, Lothíriel. We will visit you as often as we can", she insisted. The young queen would have liked to believe Ceolwen and Elfhelm could indeed travel frequently, but the truth remained it was nearly three days from Edoras to Astdun, and once the baby was born, the new parents would have their hands full with their growing family. With Ceolwen relieved of her duties as the King's Captain and residing again in their home, Elfhelm too would not have a reason to come to the capital as often. There would be letters of course, but those were not the same thing as the presence of these two Lothíriel had come to regard her friends.

"I look forward to it already", she said anyway and smiled at the Shieldmaiden and the Marshal. The latter hugged her as well and strangely it felt a bit like when one of her brothers would wrap their arms about her, though Elfhelm was broader and consisting of more hair than any of the three princes.

"So, I'm assuming here I can count on you to look after our king, can't I? Keep things up and running here?" he asked pleasantly as he pulled back, making Éomer snort. Lothíriel smiled as a response.

"Of course. I will do my best", she promised and the Marshal gave her a light-hearted grin.

"Your best is more than enough", he said and patted her shoulder. He turned to exchange few more words with his liege-lord and with Éothain, who was present as well.

After one last hug with Ceolwen, Lothíriel knew she had to let go now or never – the two and their company had a long road before them and would rather get to it already. So the goodbyes were exchanged and the Marshal and the Shieldmaiden mounted their horses.

Quietly Éomer wrapped an arm about Lothíriel's waist. She moved closer to him and covered his hand with her own.

"I never really had friends", she said at length. "Not before Rohan. It's not easy to let go of something when you have only discovered its worth."

"They will be back as soon as they can. I am certain you will find the friendship between yourself and Ceolwen will endure distance", said her husband gently and gave a small kiss to her temple. "After all they have done for us, they have earned to live for themselves."

"I know", she murmured and leant her head against his shoulder.

"Still, I must say I am slightly surprised by all this. I never thought Elfhelm would be one to raise a family, and least of all before me", Éomer commented. In his voice there was a light tone, but his words troubled her. He went on, as though half to himself now, "I wonder what it will feel like."

There was a wrenching feeling inside her, twisting and turning as though into knots. She tried to swallow but the lump in her throat refused to dissolve. Suddenly she was scared... not of his reaction, but something else entirely.

When she spoke, her voice was weak and hoarse, and from his expression she saw that he had sensed the sudden shift of her mood.

"Beloved, there is something I need to tell you."

* * *

><p>"Now, what is it you want to say?" Éomer asked when he had closed the door of their bedchamber, ensuring the privacy this topic very much demanded.<p>

Lothíriel had already sat down on the edge of the bed, fidgeting her hands restlessly. Why hadn't she got around to talking about this earlier?

He picked up the signs quickly. She just about had time to see his brow furrowing before she lowered her eyes on her hands again; he came to sit next to her and covered her fingers with his own.

"You know you can tell me anything", said her husband gently.

She grasped his hand between her own two and took in breath. Then she started to speak in quiet tones.

While she described the conversation between Eadgyd and herself, clear in her mind as it had been on the day almost a year and a half ago now, Éomer listened to her quietly. He made no comments while she spoke, nor did he make a move to free his hand from hers. But when she finished he did not speak right away. So she awaited nervously, thinking of all the worst outcomes.

Yet when he carefully turned her chin so that he could see her eyes, she saw nothing on his face that would alarm her.

"Dear heart, why didn't you speak with me of this before?" he asked.

"I... I'm not sure. First I thought you needed to concentrate on going back and being a king again... and then there was that nonsense with Feran. And these past months you've been so busy all the time. I don't know – I somehow thought the right moment never came. I was hoping the matter might solve itself", she explained, though it sounded foolish even to her own ears.

He made a coarse sound at the back of his throat and moved his hand, but only so that he could wrap his arm about her shoulders.

"I love you more than anything in this world, but you can be so daft sometimes", he muttered; as an answer, she let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"So I take it you're not angry with me?" Lothíriel felt obliged to ask.

"Of course not. Just promise me you won't keep things like this from me again", Éomer said steadily.

"I promise", she insisted and reached to kiss him. When she pulled back, she let out an awkward little laugh. "I feel so stupid. One has to wonder why and how do you even deal with me."

He chortled as an answer.

"There are plenty of reasons to that", he told her and kissed her again. Then a quizzical look came to his features, and he asked: "Have you spoken with a midwife about this?"

"Yes. She told me about the same thing... she advised me to talk with a healer and ask for potions to help me", Lothíriel replied. She hadn't got around to it, not before they had returned from their trip to Minas Tirith. For obvious reasons, childbearing had been on the surface of her mind for a good part of the travel.

"Then we shall wait and hope for the best", he stated and brushed his fingers across her cheek. "It is what you want? I haven't made the wrong assumptions?"

"Yes, it is what I want too. Not only because the realm needs an heir", said the young queen, fingering his knee absent-mindedly. "I suppose it was always obvious to me we would start a family one day. First it was because I thought it would be expected of me as your wife, but then the south happened, and I... if I was to give birth to your child, then no matter what happens life would go on – even if you or I were gone. Our child would be the meaning. Does that make any sense to you?"

Éomer considered her words silently for a while. His expression was serious when he looked at her again.

"I think I understand", he said at length. "That is the difference between Eorlingas and Gondorians... where the men of Stoningland carve their memories in stone and letter, for us the true immortality is our children and children's children."

* * *

><p><em>Early April 2, Edoras<em>

After another long day Éomer closed the door of the royal chambers behind himself and let out a heavy sigh. He was glad to have come to the end of the day and to be able to put aside the concerns of the realm.

Looking about himself he expected to see Lothíriel, but though there was her shawl in the chair by the fireplace, along with a scroll letter she must have been reading, the woman herself was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had gone to the bedchamber to fetch something?

"Beloved? Are you there?" he called to her as he sat down to undo the lacings of his boots.

She did not answer right away, making him tense up on his seat – the choking, panicky feeling was familiar to him, though it did not occur so often these days – and he nearly leapt up to frantically search the royal chambers.

"I'm here", came her answer from the bedchamber and he relaxed. But even then he noticed the strange tone of her voice.

She emerged then and Éomer took note of the frown on her face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned. He knew she thought he worried too much.

Lothíriel opened her hand. He saw the piece of fabric; its paleness was in contrast against the blood stain on it. Even before she spoke he knew what it meant.

"Not this time."

* * *

><p>Sometimes one just had to wonder about the nerve of certain Eorling ladies. Éomer could never really tell if it was because they had some kind of a secret agreement, or if they had just been born defiant. Either way, when he meant to join his wife on that night of April, he was informed by Scýne that the Queen was busy with her and Osythe.<p>

He was not given a chance to ask what it was about: the women showed him out and told him to go and have a drink with Éothain. So, after a moment of reprehension he decided to just comply. Perhaps his friend knew what this was about.

Apparently Éothain was a knowing part of the scheme, seeing how unsurprised he was when Éomer appeared at his door on that evening. As was fitting for the former captain of the King and the member of his council, Éothain and his family lived not far from the Golden Hall. Balancing his son Getrúwian against his shoulder and Elva trailing him, Éothain invited the King of the Mark inside. Elva greeted him as well, giving his leg a hug; the girl was completely natural around the tall riders her father was friends with.

"Hello, my friend. Scýne said you might be coming over", said Éothain, leading the younger man in.

"Strangely enough she did not think to inform me before", Éomer said wryly, making his friend chuckle. The former captain gestured him to sit down by the hearth and handed him the little boy, to hold the child while Éothain poured them some ale.

There was a strange twist inside his heart when he received the child, though he was already starting to recognise it. Getrúwian's weight was not much for him to carry and the little boy looked at him with the sleepy, trustful eyes. Elva sat down on the floor next to her father's chair, carrying several wooden horses in her small arms.

Fast he looked away and fixed his gaze on Éothain as the man limped back with the mugs of ale.

"Did she tell you what they were planning?" he asked as his friend offered him the drink.

"I'm not completely sure, but I believe infants were mentioned", Éothain replied and carefully received his son in his lap again.

"Oh", was all Éomer could say. He looked down into his mug, as though it held some kind of an answer to all things that had ever troubled him.

Then, lest he could fall into some morose mood, he took a long sip and glanced at Éothain, "What does it feel like? Being a father?"

A slight smile appeared on his friend's face as he sat back in his chair and straightened his bad leg on a foot stool. Apparently it was not bothering him so much now, and one could have argued it was not holding him back either – as a member of council he was ever energetic. Éomer wondered if the young riders he was training ever rued that endless energy.

"There is not one simple way to describe it, because every day I'm learning and discovering more. Fatherhood is work that never ends, and it can be challenging, but perhaps that is why it is so fulfilling... seeing them grow and learn is a great joy to me. To have the trust and love of an innocent, like a child – such a thing cannot be explained in words", Éothain said at length, considering his daughter who was apparently playing a horse race with her wooden steeds.

The former captain went on, his voice softer now, "Scýne and children... they are the best thing that ever happened to me. Thinking of them kept me going even when the traitor held me prisoner and my hope that you would come home was failing."

Éomer considered his friend's words in silence. He didn't know what he should say, and at any rate he wasn't sure if his voice would have even obeyed. Perhaps Éothain knew how he was feeling, so the man didn't say anything for a little while. But eventually he asked, his voice gentle: "Are you and Lothíriel planning to have children?"

"Aye. We are trying", said the younger man, and hoping to avert this particular angle he went on, "To be honest, raising a family didn't seem so important before. It was just a duty I thought I would have to fulfil eventually. Now it's different. Lothíriel is... I don't know what it is about her, but she makes it seem so much more than a duty."

Éothain smiled and nodded.

"I know. My own feelings were similar before Scýne agreed to marry me... I suppose it is what they do – the women in our lives, that is. They open your eyes to a world of possibilities, and they make it worth pursuing", Éothain deemed. The younger man made a affirmative sound at the back of his throat and took a mouthful of his ale, trying not to think of _what if not. _

"It should be good for you both, too. Nothing makes you move on like having a child", Éothain said softly, and Éomer knew he only spoke those words because of the long friendship between them, and because his former captain was one of the very few who knew the full tale of the south.

"That is what Aragorn said to me as well when we visited Mundburg", said the King of the Mark and let out a small sigh.

Quietly Éothain reached to pat his arm and to give him a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. It will be all right – I'm sure of it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Here is a new chapter! I know this is pretty heavy on the matter of having children, and I don't mean to preach everyone should have kids - I know not it's not everyone's dream. However, I think in the culture these characters live in raising a family is an important thing. Like Éomer says, Eorlingas see their own life continued in those of their children. Moreover, for him and Lothíriel it is also essential, because they are expected to produce heirs for the realm. I would say they have both set their hope/attempt of moving on and fully leaving their past struggles behind in the idea of family.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Yes, I imagine there were some barely suppressed laughs and awkward situations. :D

**brandibuckeye - **Glad you liked it! :)

**Miss Pixie M **- And it was fun to write! Light moments are indeed needed after darker ones. :)


	18. Chapter 18

_May 2, Harrow_

The crowd in Déor's Hall did not seem to grow any smaller during the two days Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen held court there. It was their last stop on their tour of the Riddermark, when they would meet with the common folk and hear their appeals. Usually, such gatherings were held in Edoras, but according to Éomer, it had long been a tradition that every once in a while the King and Queen would tour the land to see the people and give a chance of meeting the royal couple to those who could not make it to the capital for one reason or other. Well, it had been a tradition, but for obvious reasons such a thing had not taken place in many years. The occasion was formal enough to warrant the presence of at least one of the King's Marshals, which task Elfhelm had accepted. It seemed he was torn between enthusiasm and regret; enthusiasm, because he took his duties quite seriously, but regret because he did not like being away from his pregnant wife.

Be it as may, for a better part of the month they had been riding up and down the land, seeing folk high and small. Though it had been an exhausting month, it had been very informative. Lothíriel felt like she had seen entirely new sides of the realm and people, and she was already brimming with suggestions to make to her husband and his council.

The matters brought to the attention of the King were of the every day sort, and quietly Lothíriel observed the people of the Mark had recovered well from the Kin-strife; they seemed to be moving on. Altogether the tour had left her with a hopeful mood and so she never expected the scene that took place in Déor's Hall.

For as her husband was about to bring the gathering to a recess, there was suddenly a bright voice in the crowd: "My lord! My lord, please hear my request!"

The voice was a familiar one, and from the corner of her eye she could see Éomer thought the same, for he sat up straighter on his seat and searched the throng of people with narrowed eyes. He did not have to search for long, because the girl made her appearance, emerging from the multitude.

She was the same as Lothíriel had last seen her, yet it was not so. For the last time she had knelt before the King of the Mark she had been lithe and aglow in her fresh youthful beauty – now she was large with child and on her cheeks there was a deep red flush. The young queen deemed Hlísa had to be at least into seven months of pregnancy. It came as a surprise, though that was not to say Lothíriel had much thought of the girl since the feast Déor had arranged.

Lothíriel didn't know what she should have felt, and no expression moved on Éomer's face either. Then again, he very rarely showed his true feelings when he was in the middle of holding court. Her king leant back on his seat again and considered the pregnant girl before him.

"What is your request, Hlísa?" he asked steadily.

Wringing her hands, the girl spoke: "My lord, I only ask you to acknowledge the child you sired."

A gasp rose in the crowd; Lothíriel herself stared at the lass unsure whether this was some kind of a joke, or if she had understood something wrong due to not being a native speaker of the Rohirric language. However, the reaction among the people did suggest that she had got the words exactly right.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Éomer, his voice absolutely colourless. A person who did not know him might have taken it for a sign of total indifference, but Lothíriel knew him better than that. Only due to an effort of willpower he was keeping his temper in check.

She could see the slight tremble on Hlísa's face, thus revealing the distress she must be feeling – it could not be easy to stand there before Éomer while his dark, stern eyes pierced her. As such, Lothíriel had to wonder what could possibly make the girl spew such a lie.

"The... the child you gave me, my lord. Wouldn't you provide for your son?" Hlísa squeaked – she looked like she was starting to realise just what kind of an insult she had made. Not a single noise could be heard in the Hall, and it felt like the entire gathering were holding their breaths as to not miss the barest instance of this scene.

"I would, if I knew for truth that a woman was carrying my child. However this nonsensical claim, that my fidelity is such a fickle thing I would even break my oaths, bears no resemblance to the truth", Éomer replied, his voice cool and sharp.

"But my lord, you are -" Hlísa attempted, but the girl never got to finish her sentence. In one swift moment he was on his feet, and his anger made him grow even taller than he was.

"Enough!_" _he snapped dangerously, glaring at the young woman before himself. "Your lies are an insult both to me and my queen. Remove yourself from my sight while you still can."

The girl cowered and stumbled back, her arms about her swollen belly as though she believed her babe was in danger. But Éomer remained where he stood, effectively driving her out with his gaze.

Once Hlísa was gone, he spoke once more. His voice was collected again, though Lothíriel did not miss the ice in it.

"We will continue in hour's time", he announced, reaching his hand towards her. She stood up and placed her hand on his. She was still bewildered, but hoped none of it showed on her face as they made through the crowd. The silence had broken at last and there was a rise of chatter. She didn't know what to feel or think, or if this was a proper scandal in the eyes of Eorlingas, like it would have been in Gondor.

As a result, getting to the peace of their assigned chambers was a relief, especially because she really needed the council of her husband as to how she should react once they met the crowd again. However, Éomer did not seem like he was on counselling mood, because soon as they had entered, he threw aside his cloak and strode to the washing basin. His movements were sharp and somehow rough as he poured water and leant down to wash his face. The air about him was practically bristling. Lothíriel didn't know if anything she could say would be helpful at all, or if she just needed to let him have a moment to collect his thoughts. So she chose the latter and sat quietly down to consider what had just happened.

But soon as Éomer had washed his face and poured himself some ale, he strode again to the door. He opened it and spoke, "Elfhelm? Get in. I need to talk with you."

The Marshal had followed them from the Hall and remained behind the door of the chamber, perhaps knowing his king would want to talk once he had calmed down a bit. The man came in and for once his face did not bear any sign of his usual good cheer. Still, he nodded at Lothíriel and closed the door behind himself.

"Has Ceolwen spoken to you about this place?" Éomer asked at last and sat down, suddenly looking quite tired.

"She did tell me about that old man Banstan and his granddaughter who, hmm, seemed to have taken a liking to you", Elfhelm affirmed. Lothíriel's husband scoffed and took a long sip of ale.

"What did you make of that scene just now?" she asked for her part, sensing it was what Éomer was expecting to hear as well.

"It was quite the surprise. She is a better liar than I would have thought... but not really very convincing to anyone who takes one moment to actually look at the two of you together", Elfhelm stated, stroking his chin pensively.

"Hmph. I can't remember the last time I heard something so ridiculous. What in the name of Béma makes her think that such a lie would help with her obsession?" Éomer muttered grimly. Lothíriel had to nod in agreement.

Elfhelm had a different idea, though.

"I was thinking... maybe this all goes deeper than just a girl's obsession. I was watching that Banstan while she made her display, and it seemed to me he was smiling. If you ask me, he encouraged her to claim the babe is yours", he said at length, moving his eyes from Éomer to Lothíriel and then back again.

"Why would he do such a thing? What does he have to benefit from it?" Éomer wanted to know and tilted his head. Lothíriel leant forward in curiosity as well: Éomer had, of course, told her everything he knew of Banstan and what Ceolwen had said about the man.

The question made Elfhelm shrug.

"Who knows? I suppose he is the only one who could properly answer, and I'm fairly sure just asking nicely wouldn't make him talk. Maybe he's trying to unsettle your support by giving the impression you sleep with young girls and then abandon them... maybe he thinks the position of your queen could be weakened and she could be replaced by one of his own kin... or maybe he's trying to distract you from something else", said the Marshal and moved over to pour himself some ale as well.

Having listened to Elfhelm's reasoning and watching how Éomer's expression turned darker, the young queen realised that unknowingly, Hlísa had touched – or perhaps it was more accurate to say the girl had hammered on – some tender nerves, the kind that did not bear such exposure. Well, it had touched _her _nerve too, but she was much more in control of her storm than Éomer was. Be it as may, his fear of losing his queen and of the possibility their yearning for a family would never be fulfilled were some things a foolish young girl should not play with.

After considering his Marshal's explanation, Éomer spoke again.

"Those are some very good points. I didn't realise he'd go to such lengths... though I would to know for sure what is his motive", he said, leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand. "Be it as may, it really is not like I can do anything about it. He or his granddaughter for that matter have not committed a crime, insulting as their lie may be. I was hoping Edelric would have more success with Déor."

"And I gather they are in very good terms, but Déor trusts Banstan. Why shouldn't he, anyway? In all things that matter the old man has served him well", Elfhelm stated, rocking on the heels of his feet. He glanced at his king, "I suppose the lad can't be dismissed either."

"Absolutely not. The seat has been in his line since the times of Eorl and Déor has done nothing wrong. From his point of view, Banstan has only been useful. I'm not a king who will punish one man for the deeds of another... not to mention Erkenbrand would be very displeased with me if I treated his nephew in such an abysmal way", Éomer sighed and scratched at his chin.

"Then what do you suggest should be done? If this Banstan is behind the whole affair, who knows what else he might come up with?" asked his Marshal.

It was Lothíriel who answered his question.

"I could go and talk with Hlísa – find out why she said such a thing, and who is the real father of her child", she suggested. Both men looked sharply at her.

"You are not angered by what she said?" asked her husband curiously.

"To be honest, more than anything I pity her", she said slowly, tapping the tip of her chin with her index finger. "I don't know if her grandfather really did tell her to tell such a lie, but can you imagine what it would feel like if someone close to you, someone you trust, used you to their own ends? But we must consider he had nothing to do with it. I don't approve of her trying to solve her situation by lying, but she must be desperate to provide for her child. In Gondor, bearing a child out of wedlock would be a scandal – she would be disgraced and it could ruin the rest of her life."

The two men were silent for a while. They glanced at each other, and Elfhelm grinned sheepishly.

"Do you think we are a bit thick-headed, talking away like so and ignoring the obvious woman's point of view, even though it was sitting right in the front of us?" he asked his king. Éomer made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle.

"A bit thick-headed? Théoden deemed us long ago a pair of mules", he muttered wryly, laying aside his mug. "In any case Lothíriel is right. The girl's position is not one for envying... perhaps I was too harsh with her."

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "Do you think you can get her to talk?"

"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

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><p>Lothíriel had decided the formal way was not the one about it. Appearing in full regalia and having a herald announce herself would have attracted too much attention, and anyway it would have been too much of a hassle. So she arrived on Banstan's door with only two guards with her, bracing herself for the conversation ahead.<p>

The door was opened by a small woman who had same eyes as Banstan, and Lothíriel guessed she had to be kin to the old man. The arrival of the Queen herself had those eyes widening in surprise.

"My lady!" the woman exclaimed and fell into a clumsy bow. "What brings you to our door?"

Lothíriel was fairly sure she knew very well what had happened in Déor's Hall – all the more reason for her to be surprised at the arrival of the Queen.

"I would like to talk with Hlísa, if she is at home", Lothíriel replied calmly.

"Of course – please do come in!" said the woman and gestured the young queen to follow her inside. The guards stayed behind as Lothíriel stepped inside and took a brief note of the surroundings. Banstan's home was much like any Eorling house, cleanly kept and orderly.

"Please sit down, my Queen, while I fetch that silly girl", fussed the woman who had let her in. She clumsily pointed at the long bench in the spacious all-purpose chamber. It seemed to serve both as a kitchen and a dining room.

The woman disappeared into another chamber, leaving Lothíriel alone. She took seat as she had been offered, paying no particular attention to the voices in the next room, except to notice the alarm in Hlísa's voice. For a moment it sounded a bit like they were arguing, but at last the girl emerged, trailed by her kinswoman.

"I shall leave you to speak alone in peace, my lady", she said, curtsied again clumsily, and hurried outside. Hlísa herself stood quietly as long as the older woman remained in the chamber, looking at Lothíriel with wide, frightened eyes. However, the moment they were alone, Hlísa fell on her knees before Lothíriel.

"I am so sorry, my lady! Please, don't be angry with me!" the girl wailed.

"Please get up. I don't want you to get hurt", said the young queen, keeping her voice calm but firm. Hlísa dared a glance up at her and blinked.

"You haven't come to kill me?" she squeaked. Her question surprised Lothíriel and she lifted her eyebrows. She had to wonder what really was her reputation in the Mark, and if people commonly thought of her so ferocious that she'd not hesitate to kill those who crossed her.

"Of course not. I just want to talk with you", she replied calmly. Hlísa blushed and stumbled clumsily back on her feet.

"Have a seat", Lothíriel offered, gesturing at the stool opposite her, as there were not other seats in the room. The girl complied hastily, but she was still eyeing the Queen like she didn't know what to make of this – or if it would mean trouble.

"Are you very angry with me, my lady?" Hlísa asked gingerly. Lothíriel suppressed a smile and folded her hands in her lap.

"Not quite as angry as my lord husband was", she replied wryly and the girl cringed. Then with a slight frown, she spoke again; "though that is not to say I appreciate what you did."

Her words made the girl blush and look away.

"Hlísa", Lothíriel spoke the girl's name gently, "Did someone tell you to do it? Or was it your own idea to lie about your baby?"

Hlísa kept her eyes away still, but the young queen could see how troubled she looked like.

"I... it's my own fault", the girl mumbled. Lothíriel could not really tell if that was another lie or not, and if Hlísa was protecting someone. What she did gather was the pregnant girl would not spill out anything – not without pressure at least.

"Can you tell me why you lied in such a way, then?" she inquired patiently.

"I just wanted to make sure my baby would be provided for, my lady", Hlísa said miserably. "And the King's son would never want for anything."

"The love you already have for your child compliments you, but spewing lies about his father could hurt a lot of people. Including yourself and the babe, and the King's trueborn children once they come", Lothíriel pointed out firmly. "It is not good to spin such tales, unless you mean ill. Or do you wish to reawaken the Kin-strife?"

Now Hlísa's blush faded away, for her face paled in shock.

"Of course not! It was a horrible time – I would never want to see anything like that again!" she said quickly. "I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't realise it would be so serious."

"Would you like to tell me who is the child's real father?" Lothíriel inquired then.

"It is Lord Déor, my lady. On the night of that feast last year, we... we shared a bed. And there has not been anyone else, I swear", the girl said emphatically. The young queen regarded her closely.

"Why didn't you tell him it is his child? Did he hurt your feelings somehow?" she asked, keeping gentle her tone.

"Of course not! He was very sweet", Hlísa replied hurriedly. Another blush had crept to her face, but this time it had nothing to do with shame. But then she frowned again, "I just thought he might be angry... maybe he wouldn't agree to take care of the child."

"Hlísa, do you like Lord Déor?" Lothíriel asked now. An idea was already forming in her mind.

The girl before her nodded, young features bearing a very serious expression.

"I do, my lady. Like I said, he was very sweet and nice, and he said that he loved me", she said and even smiled slightly.

"Then would you like me or the King to talk with him? Myself or him could find out if Déor would fancy giving you the cloak and wedding you – with our support and blessing, of course", Lothíriel suggested. Her words had an instant effect: Hlísa's eyes widened and she sat up straighter on the stool, staring at the Queen like she had only just dropped from the ceiling. She truly seemed like she just ran from one emotion to the next.

"My lady! That would be wonderful!" she said enthusiastically and reached to grab Lothíriel's hand. "Would you really do that?"

"I would, if you promise me something."

"Anything, my lady Queen!" Hlísa insisted, holding the Queen's hand with both of her own.

Lothíriel smiled.

"No more lies, Hlísa. You will live in honesty and truth, and you will teach these to your child as well. Moreover, if there is anything you need to confess to Déor about what happened today, you will do it. You cannot let any uncertainty rest on the identity of the man who sired your babe. And when you build your relationship and marriage on sincerity and trust, you will know true love."

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><p><em>Two weeks later<em>

Lothíriel had only just returned from the training grounds, where she had been practising her archery as to not lose her skill, when a pair of strong arms wrapped about her. Then she was lifted from the ground and a bearded face sought hers for a kiss. As usual, it did not bother him to have an audience of the entire courtyard of Meduseld.

She let out a laugh before succumbing into that kiss, winding her own arms about the neck of her husband. But even as the kiss ended, he didn't let go of her; in his eyes, she could see a warm glimmer.

"Have I told you lately that I absolutely adore you, my Queen?" he asked in a soft, low voice.

"I don't think you have. What have I done now that warrants this?" she inquired lightly.

"A messenger just came from Harrow. Not only has Lord Déor taken Hlísa to wife, but he has also dismissed that old schemer Banstan. I do not suppose I'm wrong to assume this all came from your idea to have them marry?" Éomer asked.

Indeed, like she had sought Hlísa, Éomer had spoken with Déor and made it clear he had nothing to do with the girl – he had also also explained how the girl's deed had come from fear and despair that her child's true father would not acknowledge it. Though the young lord had been understandably upset by the scene in his Hall, Éomer had been able to convince him. Apparently it had been very helpful that Lothíriel had told him how Hlísa had called Déor sweet.

"Well, I did my best, but why would anything I said influence Déor to dismiss that old man?" Lothíriel asked. Her husband lowered her on the ground again, but kept his arms about her still.

"Apparently Hlísa told Déor that her grandfather had encouraged her to claim the babe was mine. The lad was not pleased, as you can imagine", he explained. Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows; it seemed that the girl had truly taken to her heart the suggestion about confessing everything to Déor.

Éomer kissed her again, briefly this time. Then he continued, "I had worried about what Banstan might come up with – and if he would stir the waters even more. But it seems that you have taken care of the matter for me."

She smiled up at him.

"A queen supports her king, does she not?" Lothíriel asked and gently ran her fingers across the back of his neck.

"Hmm. And no matter what Elven jewels he has in his hoard, she is still his greatest treasure."

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><p><strong>AN: **I hadn't said the last word about the matter of Déor, Hlísa and Banstan! But maybe they can now go their merry ways (well, maybe not Banstan). ;) Éomer's angry reaction comes of course, like Lothíriel observes, from this deeply felt fear and doubt. Not only does he dread losing her, there is also this growing fear that one of his deepest desires will not be fulfilled.

Hope you all have a great week, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

I do believe Lothíriel's pregnancies, especially the first one, will be explored in more detail than in _ALTE_. But all in good time!

**Anonymous - **I'm afraid it must get worse before it can get better. ;)

**Thalia - **I guess their atmosphere is troubled, but I must confess I wanted to (and still do) explore this period of their lives too. Perhaps the scenes won't always be light, but I will try to add some more cheerful instances. Just bear with me!


	19. Chapter 19

_July 2, Meduseld_

Returning from a ride and meaning to get changed, Éomer came to the royal chambers of the Golden Hall. A sudden summer rain had taken them unawares – a short, rough shower of rain that had left him dripping wet. Still, he didn't mind.

All thoughts of changing clothes left his mind when he spotted his wife. There she sat on the edge of the bed, shaking quietly with what could only be tears. It was not often that she cried and it always scared him when she did, though he was determined not to show it. Dropping his wet tunic on the floor, Éomer flew to her side and pulled her close, his heart twisting with concern.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" he asked, trying for gentle instead of frantic.

"It's not working", she stuttered, her voice agonised. "The medicines – it's not helping. My cycle..."

"Shh. Come here", he whispered and pulled her closer still, and she buried her face against his neck. For a while she kept shaking and sniffling there, but he held her and muttered gentle and comforting things. She had been drinking these potions for months now, wrinkling her face in distaste every time she downed a drink which ingredients he couldn't even guess. The potions had yet to show their worth.

"You know", Éomer said at length, when she had calmed down somewhat, "It could be because of me as well. Perhaps I can't have children."

Lothíriel looked up at him, blinking tears from her eyes. He sighed and wanted to look away but did not. Before their marriage he had not thought about it very seriously; in his youth he had always made a point of being careful whenever he was with a woman. This had also continued when the relationship between him and Lothíriel had become physical. It was not because he felt aversion towards having children. Rather, he had wanted his sons and daughters to come trueborn – carried and birthed by the woman he called his wife, have a full share of their inheritance and of his legacy. Even more important it was now.

"But we can't know for sure. Perhaps... if you had another woman..." she stammered, revealing just how upset she was. Lothíriel in her right mind would never suggest such a thing.

"Don't you say that! It is complete nonsense, you foolish thing", he said sternly. "It would only drive you mad, just as I would lose my mind if I ever had to share you with anyone else. And there is only one woman in this Arda whose children I want to have. That woman is you."

"It's not as simple as that. You need an heir. The realm needs a prince", she said quietly.

"We'll think of something. The Mark won't be left without an heir", he murmured quietly and held her tighter, though the words tore at his heart as well. "Éowyn is already with child, and maybe she will bear more. Perhaps her son could become a king after me."

She made a non-committal sound and rested her head against his shoulder once more.

"I just want to have this with you", she mumbled, her voice weak and sad.

"I know, beloved. I know", he sighed and closed his eyes.

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><p>The day was as any other day in Edoras. There were comings and goings of the common folk, and messengers riding from the different parts of the realm with news and letters and reports to the King. The Lord of the Mark himself had been seen on the training grounds this very morning, proving for the umpteenth time that the aftermath of the southern campaign and the Kin-strife had not softened him one bit – as a matter of fact, the man was more ferocious than ever. As for the Queen, she had been seen talking extensively with the healers of the capital. The talk was she had suggested expanding the House of Healing in Edoras, and to send the apprentices in training to receive some schooling in Mundburg.<p>

Altogether all things were as they should be, though for a Doorward it would mean little action, as Ceorl thought to himself on his post by the twin doors of the Golden Hall. Not that he hoped for action: like anyone, he was thankful for the peace that was now in the kingdom.

That peace was unexpectedly interrupted before the day had a chance of turning into afternoon, though. For even as Ceorl sat close to the doors, his sword bared on his knees like was the custom, there was a sudden rise of noise inside the Hall, nearly startling him down from the bench: _"What did you say?!"_

One could not mistake the King's booming voice, especially when the man lifted it – even his normal speaking voice was the kind to draw one's attention.

"_Who told you that? Are people seriously saying this kind of horsesh-" _

Ceorl blinked. If the King was swearing, he had to be quite angry. The Doorward had a sudden urge to slightly open the doors and peek in – though only to peek, as he didn't want to get caught in the middle of the storm that had risen in the Hall.

"_What is wrong with these idiots? Have they already forgotten what she did for this realm?"_

Now the other Doorwards were listening too, looking like they were holding their breaths as to not make any noise. Bemused looks were exchanged between the guards of the doors of Meduseld, though none of them were really surprised there was such fire in their king.

"_No! I will not calm down! Anyone who has the nerve to insult the Queen __**and **__the stupidity to suggest I should disgrace her so may very well go and -"_

There was a rather obscene description of what said people should go and do, which was then followed by some frantic noises, but Ceorl couldn't make out what was said. He considered if he should just press his ear against the door, though he was starting to think that an outburst of this scale would earn a full report among the household members later on.

"_Shut up, Éothain! I am not interested in what you – oh, hello, dear wife..." _

The noise inside quieted down. As though in unison, the Doorwards let out a breath they had not noticed holding.

"Béma's beard, he really does love his lady", Ceorl commented at last, which earned some affirmative mutters among his peers. Another guard, a grey-bearded fellow named Stándenu, shrugged.

"Wouldn't you adore a woman who fights pirates and traitors and all kinds of villains to get you back?"

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><p><strong>AN: **Here's an update for Thursday! I have a feeling both our favourite horselord and his lady have some tight nerves here. We'll see how that goes in the next chapter. At any rate I do think it would oppress their minds, as was discussed in the next to last chapter of _ALTE. _

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>brandibuckeye - <strong>It was quite the scene indeed! :)

**Jo - **I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much! :) It's very entertaining to write as well.


	20. Chapter 20

_August 2, Meduseld_

The letters on the parchment before her made very little sense to Lothíriel. She kept staring at the firmly drawn figures, but their meaning hardly entered her mind; by the time she was reaching the end of the paragraph, she had already forgotten what she had been reading.

"Damn it", she muttered to herself and rubbed her temples, hoping she could somehow just push away the thought that kept nattering in her mind. It was no wonder that it pestered her constantly: the matter of her pregnancy – or the lack of it – seemed to be on everyone's lips. Well, perhaps not on their lips anymore, not after Éomer's impressive outburst, but she could see it in their eyes. Could their heroic queen be barren?

In frustration she got up on her feet and made for a stand, to pour herself some water, but her hands were shaking and in a sudden burst of helplessness and anger she gripped the edges of the stand, wishing back the tears. Why they were burning her eyes she couldn't say for sure – perhaps it was the knowledge this was something all her will and all her skill in arms, even her love, would not conquer.

Lothíriel was still fighting back the emotions that were haunting her mind every waking hour, when there was a voice behind the door: "My lady? My lady, I'm sorry to disturb you, but Prince Legolas has returned, and he asks to see both you and the King."

Her head shot up at hearing those words. Legolas had been in Edoras less than two weeks ago, and she had assumed he had carried on his journey to Aglarond. Surely he was not meaning to return to Ithilien yet?

"Just a minute", she replied and cleared her throat. She wiped dry her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths: she was a queen and she would not be defeated.

When Lothíriel emerged from the royal chambers she was calm and collected again. She smiled to the servant who had called to her, and hearing that Legolas was already with Éomer in the royal study, she also headed there.

A smile immediately dawned on the Elf's face when she entered. Quietly to herself she thought if one ever got used to how the Elves never changed, and how Legolas, just returned from the road, did not sport one speck of dust.

"Lothíriel. It is good to see you again", he greeted her in Sindarin – a native tongue for them both.

"Likewise, Legolas. I did not think you would be returning from Aglarond so soon", she said with a smile.

"As a matter of fact, I did not visit Gimli yet", Legolas replied, switching to the Common Tongue so that Éomer could follow; while her husband did know a bit of Sindarin, he claimed his grasp of it was very feeble.

Legolas' answer had the royal couple exchanging a bemused look. But before either of them could speak, the Elf spoke again.

"The reason I did not yet head to Aglarond is because of the errand I took to myself when I saw the unhappiness brewing here among yourselves and your people. I rode north to the land of Lórien and met there Lord Celeborn, who yet lingers on hither shore. Now I have returned with a message from him, addressed to the King and Queen of the Mark", Legolas explained. With every word he uttered, she felt more astonished, and when he fell silent she did not know what to say. Her husband looked just as taken aback, until he blinked and cleared his throat.

"That is... well, I am very surprised. And I have a feeling I should be thankful as well", he just about managed. Legolas offered them one of his mysterious little smiles.

"Thank me later, my friends. Now, if you will, I shall take my leave for the moment... I imagine you are anxious to read Lord Celeborn's message", he said and laid on the table a sealed scroll. He made a smooth bow that would have made even the most graceful courtier envious. Then he exited before the two could even say anything.

Lothíriel and Éomer exchanged a silent look of agreement. He then reached for the scroll, broke the seal, and opened it so that they could both read it. Lord Celeborn had written it in Westron:

_To King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel -_

_Perhaps it comes as a surprise to you that I should contact you at this time, as the communications between our two realms have been sparse – even though we spoke words of friendship in Minas Tirith in that blessed summer after the War of the Ring had ended. I have now, with the bidding of Prince Legolas our friend, thought to break the silence between us and hopefully put the words into actions. Many mortal years have passed since Eorl brought his people to live on the green plains you call your home, and it is high time we offer our hospitality to the Lord and Lady of the Mark. _

_It would greatly please me if you travelled north and entered the land of Lórien, to stay as my guests for a while. Though the beauty of our home has faded with the departure of my lady wife, there is still peace and rest here which, I imagine, would bring healing to the griefs you have endured on your paths. _

_May Elbereth's stars shine upon your roads, my Lord and Lady of Rohan, and hopefully those will bring you here for a little while._

_With best regards,_

_Lord Celeborn_

A long moment passed while neither of them spoke, as they were both quite stunned by the contents of the letter. But then, soon as she had somewhat recovered, Lothíriel moved to sit on the edge of the desk and faced her husband. A sense of certainty had fallen on her though her surprise had yet to fade.

"We should go", she simply stated, watching him closely. Éomer did not speak at first – he was staring at the letter in his hands. But at last he looked up.

"... aye. We should", he agreed. To her it looked like there was a wild hope dawning in his dark eyes. Seeing his mood uplifted her own heart did so as well, because even though neither Legolas or Lord Celeborn had addressed to it directly, she knew the meaning behind their words. Elven medicines were legendary in the tales Aunt Ivriniel had told her when she was but a child...

Lothíriel let out a small, trembling breath. Éomer held her gaze quietly, looking a bit like a man who was not certain if he was dreaming or not. Then, for the expression on his face and for the joy of hope, she let out a squeal and covered his face in kisses.

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><p>The day dawned as a misty one: as Ceolwen breathed in the morning's air, there was the heaviness of late summer in it along with the first slight bite of coming autumn. She didn't know if she just imagined it, or if pregnancy had somehow sharpened her sense of smell.<p>

With a gentle shake and a kiss she was able to wake up Elfhelm as well, though the man grumbled into his pillow; she was able to make out a question as to why they should be up so early.

"To send our friends on the way, of course. Or did you forget they are set to leave for Lórien today?" Ceolwen asked and hauled herself up on her feet. She and her husband had come to stay in Edoras for the time of the King and Queen's absence – Éomer wanted them to keep an eye on things while he was gone. She didn't truly believe anything should happen, but Ceolwen could understand very well where his concern came from.

Her husband sat up, smiling blearily at her. His thick golden hair was puffy on the one side and on the other, it was pressed against his cheek. A sense of fondness filled her heart as she looked at him. There was something overwhelmingly adorable about the man, though she'd never have told him that.

"And how is my Shieldmaiden today?" he asked, stretching his arms as he spoke.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you. If only your son stopped kicking at night", she said with a slight smile. Elfhelm grinned.

"We're vigorous men, the people of my line", he said smugly. Ceolwen could only laugh.

They joined the royal couple for breakfast, and both looked like they had already been up and about for hours. They were anxious for the departure; this too was not a wonder to the Shieldmaiden.

Elfhelm too sensed their anxiety, and eventually he groaned and waved his hand: "Damn, you two, just get going already! You've got a long journey ahead of you."

"You'd better keep the realm in one piece while I'm gone", Éomer said ominously as he got up.

"I promise you will find everything in pristine condition once you return", Ceolwen promised serenely and ushered Lothíriel away to help with last minute preparations.

Not half an hour later they were outside: the King's Company ready for departure, and Silfren stood waiting for his Rider. Ceolwen hugged the young queen – like Elfhelm, Lothíriel answered the hug awkwardly from the side of her belly – and bid her a good journey.

"Try and relax while you're there. Don't worry about anything that goes here – Osythe will keep the household up and running", Ceolwen reassured her.

"We hope you will have a good time", Scýne added and hugged Lothíriel as well. She smiled, "And we expect to hear all the stories once you get back."

Their friend let out a soft little laugh. Her eyes glimmered and she looked hopeful, which assuaged Ceolwen. It was good to see such an optimistic look on the young queen's face, especially after past few months.

"I will miss you both", she said and smiled, "Be well while I'm gone."

Her husband came then, having said his goodbyes to his lieutenants, and together they made down the steps of the Hall. Silfren tossed his head, eager for the journey, and the royal couple mounted their steeds. Both looked not back, but ahead... full of hope in a way Ceolwen had not seen them in a while.

Elfhelm wrapped an arm about her shoulders and she leant closer towards him. As they stood on the terrace of the Golden Hall, the King's Company began to move. Wind caught in the green folds of the royal standard and the White Horse seemed to leap ahead. The riders passed from the courtyard and made downhill. They would pass beyond the gates and head northward, to the land of Lórien.

_Béma keep you on your journey... and bless your life with the happiness you deserve. _

* * *

><p>The closer they got to the heart of Lórien, Lothíriel thought, the more it felt like leaving behind the every day world she knew. Hope had grown in her mind as they had travelled from Edoras to the Elven land, over the plains and then through the forest; her heart had become lighter as well, and when she looked at Éomer he seemed to be feeling same. Their journey had been an anxious one, as the both of them were yearning to reach their destination. So they had travelled as fast and light as they were able. At the edge of the wood they had met with four Elves, led by one called Haldir; whether they had come there by the wisdom of some Elven foresight, or if Lord Celeborn had known his invitation would be answered, Lothíriel could not say.<p>

Half of the Riders had stayed behind to watch over the horses, but some had come along with the King and Queen of the Mark. As they travelled deeper into the wood, Lothíriel noticed how quiet they were. She had grown to know Eorlingas as a loud, laughing and singing people. Here, however, they spoke little and laughed even less, all making the journey in silent reverie and wonder. But she and Éomer did not speak much either, and it seemed to her words were not needed... not yet.

Then at last, as the sun westered on the day after they had passed into the wood, they beheld a hill rising in the middle of the forest. Even from afar Lothíriel saw light glimmer on it that could only be caused by the sun's rays hitting the golden leaves of great _mallorn _trees – one of the many things she looked forward to seeing once they would arrive. The company had come to a halt as the mortal guests watched and wondered at this place very few of Race of Men had ever seen.

"And there is Caras Galadhon, the dwelling of the Lord of the Wood and those of our people who still linger here. Some have sought the havens, and others have gone north to Thranduil's kingdom, for among our people his realm shall endure the longest. Yet some still remain in Lórien, like Lord Celeborn, for this place is still dear to them. But when he leaves he shall never return", said Haldir, gazing to the island of great trees. "It is not as it used to be when the Lady Galadriel's power remained here, but it is fair still. For Elves have lived in this land for long ages, and long ages must pass before the earth and the air forget the touch of our hands and our singing voices."

There was incredible sadness in the Elf's words and suddenly Lothíriel felt intensely grateful for the glimpse she and her husband would be given of this place that would fade away as certainly as years would pass. She shared a quiet glance with Éomer and thought he had a similar impression of this privilege they had been given.

Haldir gestured them to move on again and so they went on. The green hill disappeared from sight as they descended into the vale below, but in her chest Lothíriel felt her hear beating at an uneven pace. A part of her would have liked to spring forth, as though the city before them was a vision that might disappear any moment.

The hill began to rise, evenly at first and then steeper. She didn't know if she only imagined it, but she felt like with each step, the sights and sounds about her became more _Elvish. _On the ground about her feet she could see flowers unlike any she knew: star-shaped golden and small white, filling the evening with their sweet fragrances. Somewhere afar, she thought she could hear singing voices, but the words of their song came to her as if through a dream.

So they passed through the gates of Caras Galadhon, and about them rose great _mallorn _trees that did not grow in any other place in Middle-earth, their bark silver-grey, and their trunks growing to such heights that even the pillars of Merethrond in Minas Tirith paled in comparison. About the trunks Elves had built their homes high and low. The houses were built in a style unlike anything she had ever seen before: their very structure seemed so light that they might have just floated in the air even without trees. Soft, gentle lights glimmered in their windows and in their lamps, somehow merging into the evening's waxing shadows. Altogether Lothíriel felt like there was simply too much for her eyes to see and she hardly knew where to rest her gaze, lest she missed something.

It appeared she was not the only one to think so, because behind herself she could hear one of the Riders whispering: "My Gytha is never going to believe any of this!"

As for Éomer, he strode beside her silent, but his eyes were keen and deeply concentrated. She reached for his hand and felt slightly breathless: that she'd get to experience something like this, and with him!

They were lead to the very top of the hill, where stood a tree taller than all the rest. There Haldir took his leave: "I must return now, for though we live in peace, my place is yet in the woods. Be welcome in our realm!"

Before the Elf left, he urged the royal couple to move on: Lord Celeborn would meet them in his house, built in the great _mallorn_ tree. In quiet tones, Éomer thanked him for guiding them here, and Haldir smiled; then he was gone, as light and soundless as a shadow on grass. The moment before she and her horselord began their ascent to their host's house, Lothíriel had time to take note of the bewildered, disbelieving looks on the faces of the Riders accompanying them. The tall, long-haired Rohirrim seemed oddly misplaced in this Elven-home.

They would stay behind while Éomer and Lothíriel would meet with the Lord of Lórien, and together with her king she began to climb the circling stairway. Up it lead, to the very sky where the first stars were igniting, until at last they came to a hall of silver. There stood a tall Elf – one of the few people whose eyes Éomer could meet without having to look down. His long, straight hair shone even brighter than the room about him, and though his face was neither young or old, his eyes were wells of wisdom and time. About his gaze there was something different than for example in that of Legolas, and Lothíriel did not have to wonder what that something was. Though the Prince of the Woodland Realm had lived for over two thousand years, Lord Celeborn had wandered in the lost realm of Doriath and seen the twilight before the Sun first rose in the sky.

Yet somehow he did not seem the same as she remembered him from when he had travelled to Minas Tirith and then back for Théoden King's funeral. It was not because he had physically changed, and quickly Lothíriel realised what was gone: the silent, inexplicable shine of Lady Galadriel. She had sailed West and taken something essential with her. Lord Celeborn seemed like a great statue that had lost one of his limbs, yet still stood like a wondrous memory of yore.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel counted their marriage in Ages rather than in years, and Lothíriel knew her own life was but one breath in comparison. And still in the quiet of her thoughts she had to consider if this was how she would appear, or Éomer, if one of them were gone forever... living but somehow diminished, forever lacking in a way that could not be explained.

As his guests came to a halt and regarded him in quiet respect and wonder, a slight smile came to the Elf's face.

"I bid you welcome in the land of Lórien, my Lord and Lady of the Mark. I am glad to receive you, though my heart grieves as well – it tells me that you are the last guests I shall house while my time lasts in this realm. But perhaps your presence is thus all the dearer", said Celeborn, his voice deeper than the shadows of the forest.

"We thank you, Lord. It is an honour and a privilege to be here as your guests. I only wish I knew a way to pay back your hospitality", Éomer spoke, bowing his head in respect to their host.

Lord Celeborn smiled – a distinctly mysterious, _Elven _sort – and slightly moved his hand.

"Take it as my gift to you", he simply said. Then he stepped forward and spread his arms, "You must be tired and hungry after your journey. I would invite you to join me for supper."

The meal was set down on the ground level and under the stars, while lamps gave soft light to the scene. Food was plentiful and delicious, and wine rolled over Lothíriel's tongue sweet and rich. She did not know if it was the drink or the general atmosphere of the wood, but she felt like her very spirit and mind were awakened here in a way she had not felt before. When Lord Celeborn shared some ancient tales, it was like she could almost see the events he spoke of before her eyes. Being here was also a bit like seeking her own origins, for this was the realm of Mithrellas' birth. The ancestress of Amrothian line had walked in the Wood and called it home long ago before she had sought the sea and found Imrazôr.

After the supper, Lord Celeborn bid them good night. An Elf of the Wood led them to one of the houses in great trees; Lothíriel couldn't say if guests were always given such lodgings, or if it was because many of the houses were now empty, for their previous dwellers had either gone over the sea or travelled north to live in the realm of Thranduil. Be it as may, the house built in _mallorn _tree had all such things they might need, though furniture was sparse. But neither Lothíriel or Éomer paid much attention to else than the inviting soft cushions and blankets on the bed, and soon as they were undressed they crawled there. Then, having settled comfortably in each other's arms, both of them drifted into sweet dreams, gentle as shadows on silver pools, and in the night echoed an Elven song.

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><p><strong>AN: **Happy Sunday, folks! I hope you've had a great weekend. :)

I've been waiting to get to write a bit about the visit to Lórien, so here at last comes something to hopefully clear out the troubled mood of last few chapters. I think this should be a hopeful time for both Éomer and Lothíriel. They have deserved it at least!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>Jo - <strong>Yes, his yelling made it pretty difficult for people not to hear! :D I think Lothíriel's reaction was a calmer one, though in privacy it would trouble her to know how this matter is a subject for common gossip. Anyway, the invitation to Lórien does cheer her up.

**brandibuckeye – **It is very difficult to her indeed. I would imagine the knowledge everyone is expecting her to give birth to an heir is only adding to her mood. As for Éomer, it does bother him too, but I would say his calmness in that first scene comes from this understanding that he can't fall apart when she needs him. So he pushes aside his own feelings in order to be strong for her and comfort her. But like his outburst shows, he can't always keep all that in.


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